When The Sky Pours Down Like A Fountain
by Xyliette
Summary: An A/U exploration of Mark and Callie preparing for their son's arrival and nothing going correctly. Mark/Callie. Derek/Addison. Set season 4.
1. You may emerge from this more dead

A/N: When I thought of this it was going to be Mark/Addison, a pairing I'm comfortable with, but when I tried to write it- well it's Mark/Callie and there could be no other way. This is only my second attempt for this pairing (the other being just a one shot) and I would appreciate any and all feedback as I am still not really feeling like I am getting Callie in the right light. Thanks to my beta. Here goes nothing-

**_--_  
_You May Emerge From This More Dead Than Alive_  
****_--_**

Darren Alexander Sloan will never take his first steps. He will never mutter his first words in a high pitched voice to a room full of open hearts who love him more than they love themselves (which considering…is kind of a feat). He will never kick a ball, toss a ball, catch a ball or get hit in the face by a ball. His small life will never know the difference in between colors and shapes, letters and numbers. That's not his story; not our story.

His story began seven months ago with a pair of doctors who were hurting, alone and more than anything else angry with themselves. He is a quintessential accident, a slip up, a faux pas and has now left two people to fight for a relationship that frankly should be questioned at every level.

It started long before Addison arrived back in town, fresh from Los Angeles (the land of perpetual smog and sun) but to say that she didn't help spur the event would be a lie. She came back for work but everyone knew she was back for Derek and he was more than happy to oblige. After the Meredith saga and the Rose drama the forty-something decided to pull his head out of his ass and invite his wife back; invite his lover back (who Mark thinks is out of her damn mind). He made a hasty proposition and Richard declared that he would do everything in his power to have the swaying redhead clicking along the heels of the Seattle Grace within weeks.

There she stood eight or so months ago, tapping a blue pen on the hard countertop deep in thought when Mark confronted her and subsequently drug her into an on call room to finally have the conversation he was certain would change her mind about everything. The impact was a far cry from what he was hoping to achieve and in the end he was left with the realization that once again she wanted his dark headed best friend nothing to do with him or his plans for their life. He sought refuge in the newly divorced bone crusher and they spent many a night cursing both Addison and George, damning them (though not collectively as Addison and Callie remained friends) to hell and back.

What they didn't know was that their own personal tour of the fiery underground was about to begin.

She decided (after too many margaritas that Joe was not a genius in making balanced and light) that she needed to be screwed senseless. It wasn't asking much. All she wanted was to be slammed into a dresser, wall or mattress (seriously, she was not going to be picky) and Mark was just her man. They tangled tongues and danced lips along slick flesh until it could be contained no longer.

The explosion fizzled and the one night stand wasn't spoken of after her hair was drenched across his sculpted chest, his legs intertwined with hers under the hotel sheets. They returned to work to watch George make Izzie his girlfriend (and then with glee watch that dissipate into nothingness) and to view the growing soap opera that was, "The Shepherds, - Wedding Round 2." Darren was bore out of the pain and anguish of knowing that neither parent could have what they really wanted out of life (not that Callie was wanting George back anytime soon more nonetheless). It would be pointless to say, his conception was less than glamorous.

Through the months they came together, even moved into an apartment, and decided to convince everyone (including themselves) that they could do this. That two friends can manage a stable, growing relationship - which neither was sure they actually wanted - with the impending arrival of their first born. He will arrive three weeks early to his father's pleasure (as his mother is driving the man literally out of his mind) and to his mother's disapproval (the day will be February 14th). And the events that precipitate this monstrous event don't so much matter.

When he makes his grand debut- head full of black hair, smooth eyes of his mother- the fact that Mark doesn't exactly know if Callie is the type of woman that can tame his wild ways (still) and the idea that Callie doesn't understand if what she feels with Mark is real love won't make the least bit of difference.

* * *

"I look fat." Callie announces, straightening her knee length black dress, "I hate Addison for doing this while I am almost eight months pregnant. It's like she planned this on purpose-"

"Cal…" Mark grumbles, having heard entirely too much about their fixing of wedding vows and there's still a shooting pain he feels when Addison giggles at Derek in the hallway, "You look amazing." And he's kind of tired of saying it. It's become a daily routine since about the fourth month and he thinks that maybe given any other father Callie would actually be excited and bursting at the seems with joy. But as it is she's scared and he can tell and it tends to frighten the shit out of him.

"You have to say that."

"True." He mumbles while fixing the knot in his tie and looking in the mirror. Today is the day he gives up on her again. Her. And he hates that it always comes back to Addison…and everything they could have had together.

"Shoes?" Callie asks, perched one foot in a tall black heel and the other dangling in the air with a ballerina flat.

"Baby you can't keep wearing heels." He kisses the top of her head in passing and nods towards the flats trying to keep his mind off how easy it is to pretend everything is okay and that they are truly invested in one another. He doesn't even know who they are fooling anymore; themselves or the entire free world.

"I just want to look good."

"You always look good. You look good at four in the morning when I wake up to your snoring, you look good at eight in the morning with crazy bed hair, you look good at midnight- eyes half awake and our son refusing to let you sleep." Her eyes light up at the mention of their child and he grimaces internally. She gave him a choice. Told him that she would do this on her own; that she was perfectly capable and it's not that he didn't believe her- it's that if there ever was a person that he thought he could love besides Addison- it's Calliope and for as much as he is scared, he wanted a child when he had the chance the first go around. There's no way he's going to let this slip out of his grip as well.

He's tired of his life happening to him instead of with him.

"Now you're just trying to stay on my good side."

"Can you blame me?"

"No." She smiles warmly, placing her soft hands over his silver tie and fixing imaginary mistakes. Capturing his lips she rolls her tongue forward and leaves him gasping for air and smirkless in their sunlight bedroom. "Ugh, at least you can drink at this thing! I'm going to be stuck listening to the resident's bitch about their interns because our idiot friends thought it would be a good idea to invite the entire hospital- didn't they already have a big wedding once? Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Addison and Derek- haven't they already done this crazy huge, people you don't know from anywhere giving you useless shit thing once?"

"Y-yeah. I guess. I don't really remember, it was a long time…ago." He stammers choosing not to recall the day he pretended to be standing in Derek's spot through the vows. It's stupid and petty and maybe only because he wants what he can't have but it still hurts like a bitch.

"I don't know why anyone would want to do this two times let alone one. The idea is just-" She drags out as he disappears into the bathroom to run a comb through the hair that hasn't needed brushing in years. Sometimes it's like talking to a wall. A gorgeous, talented, blue eyed wall. Her second trimester nearly killed them both and she decided then that even if they weren't one hundred percent ready for this whole child thing, they could definitely pull it together in time. But now, now with the stupid ivory colored flower petals and silver shoed bridesmaids (she vehemently opposed the idea of being one no matter how much Addison whined) it feels like things are going in reverse.

"I want to get married one day." He announces, waltzing back into the red themed room. Deep crimson sheets, curtains and flowers on the dresser accentuate the otherwise boring white walls and at first made him think that Callie was way more into blood than she let on but now knowing her he wouldn't pick any other theme to suit her…except maybe something tastefully black.

She likes beer, pizza and can speak intelligently about their line of work and fucked up football rulings during an anticlimactic game. Yet, she still smells amazing and her figure drives him absolutely insane. She's the best mix of everything and he doesn't know what his deal is that he can't just love her already.

"I don't." She retorts and slips the other shoe on with her bare hand, nearly toppling over onto the bed in the process. He slips in at her side and holds her steady when she grins sheepishly, "Thought that would be easier."  
**_  
_**

* * *

Two walks down an outdoor aisle on the only sunny day Seattle has seen in the last two years, what felt like ninety drunken speeches to the glowing bride and her smiling buffoon of a husband, three glass of punch, two and a half pieces of triple berry cake and one round trip car ride lands them right back where they started. Alone and quiet in the third floor apartment.

She pulls the pins from her tightly wound hair and tip toes out of the dress (choosing a pair of his boxers worn low on her hips and a light cotton Knicks tee) and slowly saunters into bed begging the baby to just knock his antics off for once and let her sleep peacefully. Mark likes to tease her and tell her all about how big of a trouble maker he will be in his teens and transition ages but neither of them knows that those days will never come. He unbuttons his white dress shirt slowly and strips down to nothing, relishing in the coolness of the fabric on his bare skin. He lightly strokes Callie's stomach, telling stories to their child while she laughs and faults her redheaded friend for ever thinking this man could be a horrible father.

He may not be loyal, he may still look at long legs and short shirts, he might forget her birthday next year and they may never even have an anniversary to celebrate but there is one thing he is dedicated to and it is his son. "Mark."

"Cal." He whispers low into the crisp air of autumn filtering in their cracked window because his woman is always too damn hot these days.

She opens her mouth to say the three words but chokes and swallows, "I can't wait until he gets here."

"I hope he looks like you." He says softly kissing the silky skin of her neck. He's said it a hundred times and he'll say it a hundred more. Callie is absolutely stunning and he feels blessed that's she's even willing to give him a shot- regardless of how uncommitted and scary it all feels. She's patient and understanding and nothing that he deserves.

"I was awkward and dorky and fat, we don't want him to be like me. We want him to be like you." She flips her head over and scoots into his arms, watching the goose bumps pop as his fit body is subjected to the cool atmosphere.

"He'll be a good mix; he'll be a good kid." Mark reassures her draping his arm beneath the covers around the tumbling soon to be infant.

"Let us pray."

"Praying isn't going to get us anywhere Cal. I haven't been to church in years and the fact that I am now having a kid is probably some sort of cosmic joke."

"I'm happy it happened…," she takes a chunk of his scented air in and continues, "…I know it wasn't planned or really even thought of but I'm happy with what we've got. I'm happy with you."

"I'm happy with you too- even though you're crazy and make me answer the door when we both know it's Chinese takeout at three in the morning and I am half awake and seriously less than armed and dangerous." He jokes and lightly tickles the sides of her caramel skin.

"Well you're free to show me armed and dangerous anytime after I've recovered from this big headed child of yours."

"Callie the carpenter likes a little dress up? Kinky."

"I dressed up for you. Fair play and what not."

"Oh, I see. You're a crazy woman Torres."

She always laughs when he calls her by her last name. It seems so formal for people who are insanely intimate and have heard the worst of each other from Mark cursing at the TV when the Yankees botch their wild card chances to Callie wanting to rip her tangled hair out and literally being frustrated to the point of tears because neither party has managed time off to buy a crib or decorate anything.

He quickly remedied that and now he repeatedly finds her standing in the small, powder blue and mocha colored room with a silly smile as she straightens the old fashioned race car themed sheets and bumper pads. He catches her when he gets home from work - she's already on maternity leave - folding little blue socks over one another, stock piling diapers into nearly every room and washing bottles that won't be used for weeks.

He drifts off to sleep that night feeling the light taps of his boy beneath his palm and the sound of Callie trying to relax in his embrace. Every once in awhile he is struck by how lucky he is in all of this. She could've taken the baby and ran and no judge in their right mind would have faulted her. On occasion he feels okay, content in what they have going on, even if it's not perfect and too complicated to explain to the closest of their friends. Tonight is one of those nights where even Derek remarrying Addison and the idiot intern spilling champagne all over his pants can't rain on his parade.  
**_  
_**

* * *

Darren will be bathed in a warm blue blanket after his birth. He will be cuddled and cooed at. He'll peer up at the pair with unsteady eyes and scream to his heart's content. There will be days where Mark will find Callie crying with the baby because he refuses to eat, refuses to sleep and refuses to be set down. He will test everyone's patience and endurance in the long dark hours of night where the headlights drift up from the street and mix with neon signs floating in past his sheer window drapes. His guttural cries will echo off the hallway walls and drive the neighbors insane but there will be fleeting moments of happiness that overshadow the rest.

There will be smiles and laughs. He'll get that. No words, mind you, but laughter and in those moments he will set the world right. He'll stop it dead and show both Mark and Callie something so much more; the important things in life.

His life will influence everything it touches and in the end he will die.

His death will be an unarguable accident but no one will be blameless. Human nature dictates that someone must own up to darkest hours and days of this couple's life. There will be silent screams in busy hallways and sobs that no one can quell. There will be unparalleled anguish when their son is buried on a rainy mid-morning in early July, enough guilt to feed a third world country and in the end someone will walk away forever.

* * *

A/N2: I'm basically laying it out here for everyone and I understand if anyone feels like this is not their cup of tea. I'm not promising magic and rainbows and I will kill this child and if that's too uncomfortable for you I want to say thanks for giving the first little part a chance and no hard feelings. My goal is to try and shed light on a situation where two people have a child and aren't stable and crazy in love but at the same time want to make it work because I feel that's more true to life. Oh and all titles are derived from Hammock songs.

* * *


	2. Stranded under endless sky

**_--_**  
_Stranded Under Endless Sky_  
**_--_**

The thing is that everyone will feel some level of pain. Some will deny involvement from the get go and hurry back out onto the floor to avoid any potential discomfort; some will take blame and place it on their own shoulders, letting it weigh heavy on their hearts for weeks and others will spend more time with their loved ones invoking the, "Life is short," rule. But it will touch everyone, jolt them from their happy states of denial and demand to be confronted and taken head on. No one will get it right, this isn't a game to be played by win/lose rules but some will invariably fair better than others and it will lead to more problems than anyone ever thought imaginable.

There will be a series of days where Richard actually contemplates just shutting down the damn surgical floor because his workers are too fucking wanked out of their heads to be talking to patients, let alone operating on them but he'll leave things be and people will refuse to step away for fear of being left alone with themselves. Miranda will cease the yelling for about a week and look carefully at the people in front of her. She'll keep a watchful eye over the young residents and George who will play the oddest role of all. When Addison steps out of the cold, sterile room and looks her friend in the eye she will remember it as the worst day of her life and nothing will ever top the overwhelming feeling of absolute wretchedness for as long as she will live. Derek will surprisingly be of no use to anyone and Cristina will step up to the plate before anyone can even ask. And lastly, both Izzie and Meredith will make mistakes that they will regret for the rest of their lives.

Because death isn't solely about coping with a loss; it's about finding who is left after everything is stripped away.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

"Mark!" Callie shouts from the bathroom, trying to convince herself that there is no reason to cry over the fact that there is too much space in between her and counter and that she can't reach the hair clip she wants on the top shelf of the cabinet in front of her because of it. "Mark!"

"Is it time? Where's the bag?" He asks anxiously pacing into the room and not even bothering to look over his shoulder to see that Callie is more on the verge of tears than in pain.

"No, it's not time idiot." She wipes at her eyes feeling childish and silly but he catches her in time to see the wet glistening on her caramel skin.

"What's wrong?" He asks tiredly because it is always something these days and he's trying. He's trying to be supportive and considerate but he has never seen anyone cry so much in his life and it wears on his nerves. He tried to talk to Derek about it but he has no children and with any luck never will so he doesn't understand or have any advice for his friend.

"I can't reach it." She mutters to the ground, purposely avoiding the notion that she can no longer see if her feet are attached to her legs anymore. It will only lead to a hormonal break down and seeing as she is managing about one and half a day she thinks she should hold off lest Mark jump out the window one night never to return.

"Reach what?" He grumbles, drops the overnight bag onto the floor, and shuffles into the bathroom.

"My clip, the black one." She pouts too cutely forcing him to capture her plump lips in his before he slips in front of her and delicately plucks the pokey edged holder from the shelf, "Thanks."

"No problem. That's what I'm here for. Hard to reach places, heavy lifting and-"

"Foot massages." She quips ending the sentence.

"I was going to say taking out the garbage but ok."

She places a hand on her hip as he looks back at her innocently. She loves that he still plays with her, that they can keep things light even when their situation demands frustration and occasional yelling. "Don't make me beg."

"Gosh, I don't know Cal. My hands are pretty tired from working all day long." He smiles brusquely at the end of the sentence before crouching down and lifting her off her feet amidst a series of squeals from her proclaiming that he's too old to do this and that his back is going to go out but before she can finish he has her on the bed safe and sound.

"I have to carry a nine hundred pound fetus around all day who takes perverse pleasure in squishing my bladder into the size of a thimble. I've actually contemplated sleeping on the toilet Mark. It makes more sense."

"Blah…blah…blah. Carrying a baby is so hard." Callie's hand smacks his chest in protest but he silences the discussion with another kiss and then relents to the nightly task of rubbing her feet. He doesn't particularly mind but it's fun to make her work for it from time to time. "Ohhh…god." She groans as his thumb digs into the middle of her swollen foot.

"I know." He retorts, "I'm that good."

"Shut up." Her eyes roll back a little and she drops from her placed propped up onto the bed and relaxes into the pillows moaning when he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

"Hey Cal?" He questions nearly fifteen minutes later as her black curly hair, minus the life altering clip, is starting to form a touch of bed head and her eyes are completely closed.

"What?" She mutters, angry from being drug from the almost sleep she was enjoying.

"I-I…never mind." He shakes his head and turns back to her left foot, tenderly working through the soft skin.

"No, I'm sorry I snapped- that I've been snapping, you can tell me."

"It's not important."

She watches him work, her head tilting to the side, dusk filling their room. "I'm sorry I've been a hormonal wreck, I know you didn't sign on for this-"

"You don't need to apologize to me Callie. We both got ourselves into this mess-"

"Mess?" She wiggles upright and stares at him incredulously. A switch has been flipped. Their child is not a mess. Unplanned, surprising but not unwanted and certainly not a mess.

"You know what I mean." He shrugs.

"No, no I don't think I do."

"Callie, baby, I was just saying that you don't need to apologize because there is no need. I understand that this is a difficult time for you and I want to be supportive. I want to be here for you and be able to help you and our son any way that I can, okay?" He breathes deeply hoping that he warded off the potential fight, at least for now, and sets his jaw.

"You think this was a mistake?" She asks quietly. Normally, she goes with the flow, but being alone all day surrounded by horrible TV judges and soap operas that don't hold a candle to Seattle Grace gossip gives her time to think. Maybe too much time.

He drops her ankle and crawls up pulling her head against his chest and snuggling them back into the fluffy red pillows. If they are going to talk seriously, he wants to be able to at least hold her. He's better at conveying things through touch than through words and this could backfire in an extreme way. "Callie," he starts patiently, "…it was a mistake. An honest mistake but that doesn't change the fact that I am excited. Sometimes the best things are unplanned."

"I meant staying together." She questions it every day and it isn't because he's difficult to live with. He puts the toilet seat down every time, voluntarily removes the trash and even cleaned the refrigerator one afternoon. His clothes are always at least close the hamper (closer than hers) and his shaved stubble never clogs the bathroom sink. But Callie wasn't looking for a roommate, she was looking for a lover; a friend, someone to spend the rest of her life with and she's not sure she's found it regardless of how loudly her biological clock was chiming in the back ground.

Keeping baby boy Torres-Sloan (name to be decided in three days) was a no-brainer. She had more money than she would ever make, even if she didn't want it, it was there and she felt better spending it on her child than on some stupid house and fancy car. She had a set career, even if she was demoted (which turned out to be a good thing). She was still at the top of her game and she genuinely loved her job and from what she's heard finding something you love and being successful at it are not things that generally come hand in hand. She was lucky in every other aspect of her life and even though she recognized that it would be difficult to be a single mother answering daddy questions and doing daddy things, she knew she could do it and that she wanted to.

His voice breaks her momentary reverie, "You don't think- Do you not want to be together anymore?" He jumps, heart racing, in fear of being broken up with. He's always been the one to walk away first. Except Addison, and it always comes back to Addison because she broke the mold. Tore it wide open and he loved every second of it and will end up spending the rest of his life looking for something he'll never have only to discover it's not really what he wants.

"I don't- that's not it. I was asking your opinion."

"I'm not really a good judge of this kind of stuff." He replies seriously, "What do you think?"

"I don't know. Relationships are not my forte apparently."

"Well that makes two of us." He kisses the top of her head, heart beat slowing.

"I just don't want to wake up in three years and realize that we are both insanely miserable and that we've only been fooling ourselves. That's not fair to any child." She whispers honestly as the sunlight begins to disappear outside their window.

"Are you happy now?"

"Yes." She replies quickly and shocks herself.

"Well, I think that's all we need. I'm happy. We'll play it by ear…nothing is perfect."

"Yeah." She falls quiet for a minute, tracing the outline of his chest through the light cotton of his emerald green fitted tee.

"Maybe it's fate." He offers, coming up with no better explanation.

"I don't believe in fate." Callie remarks almost instantly. This last year ruined a lot of things for her. Took her faith in almost everything, including herself but having Mark around helps and she takes it for granted daily.

"Me either." He laments because he is damn sure that fate hasn't carved the path he chosen to take in life so far.

Fate will change their world permanently in three days; it will end their world entirely in one hundred and two days.

**_--_**

"There's no way they're actually happy." Izzie murmurs digging her fork into the limp greens in front of her as the rest of the residents stare back with bored faces. Jealous would be an understatement and they're all just a touch tired of hearing from the blonde on what she thinks about the Sloan/Torres situation but not as tired as they are about listening to Meredith yammer on about the Shepherd/Montgomery-Shepherd non-drama. The least of the evils.

Alex rolls his eyes. "Who cares?"

"Apparently Izzie. Though I'm not surprised." Cristina counters sipping her water.

Meredith purses her mouth, "Well I overheard Addison and Derek fighting about the trailer again."

"There has got to be something more interesting going on in this place." Cristina mutters.

"Nope. With Shepherd married to Shepherd again and the manwhore tied down to the dirty ortho-chick this place has gone to shit, unless of course there needs to be a prom again and Meredith conveniently misplaces her underwear."

"Been there, done that." Cristina asserts with her fork in the air, "Someone needs to do something. I'm bored and there is no one to cut."

"That's because you pissed off Hahn. She gave everyone orders to send you on lab runs." Meredith grins, pleased with someone else's pain.

"It wasn't even that big of a deal and I saved the guy's life. Really she should be thanking me if you think about it. I mean it's not like she was going to step up and-"

"You stole her patient out from under her. That's almost as bad as-" Alex drops off pointedly staring at Izzie.

"Yes but the difference is- my guy lived." Cristina states gleefully as Izzie glares back at the table.

"I'm willing to trade. I've got Sloan and all he ever does is talk about Callie and the baby. I swear if I have to hear one more time about how pretty she looks when she's doing this," Izzie squishes her face, "or how cute she is when she sleeps…I'm going to rip my eyes out. She's not that great. No one is that great plus she's Callie so-" Izzie stops dead looking up at said woman in front of her. She completely missed everyone's subtle hand gestures and head nods.

The residents quickly disperse leaving Izzie alone, Callie towering over her, one hand on her stomach and the other clutching her black purse, "Have you seen Mark?"

"No…" Izzie nearly gags, "Callie it was all in good fun, he's driving-"

"Save it." Callie holds up her hand. "I'm not interested in your backtracking. I have a baby working his way out of my body." She turns and scans the room. She paged him six times, checked in with the nurses, called him three times and no one has seen Dr. Sloan in the last two hours. Her mind vividly dances to all the things he could be doing (things they haven't managed in months) with all the women in all the places in the hospital but as far as she knows he's been devoted and she doesn't want to think about it being any other way. She has better things to be doing, like getting hooked up to a massive pain reliever.

"Callie!" Addison screeches jumping up from her seat and throwing the newspaper that was clutched in her hand onto Derek's face.

"Hey." She bites down on her lip and carefully waddles over trying not to knock anything over with her girth.

"What are you doing here? Where's Mark? How's my favorite nephew?" She rambles rubbing Callie's stomach.

"I think it's time."

"For?" Addison removes her glasses and sets them on the table with a smile.

"It's time."

"Oh! Oh. Right, well give me the basics and we'll get you all set up. Walk with me." She extends her arm which Callie clutches to giving Derek a small wave goodbye as he busies himself with the lonely newspaper. He'll check in later.

**_--_**

"How's she doing?" Derek asks pacing in front of Addison nearly two hours later.

"How do you think she's doing?" Addison quips, unable to bite her tongue.

"Right." He nods.

"Did you find Mark?" She clicks the pen she pulled from her pocket and scratches something down on the chart in front of her before looking over her shoulder and ensuring that Callie's door is closed.

"I've looked everywhere."

"Great. Did you call him?" She snaps the chart shut and he winces in fear of being the punching bag.

"Been trying. I sent O'Malley to check all of the on call rooms. I didn't want to walk in on anything."

"You think-"

"I don't know." He shakes his head, "Maybe he's freaking out somewhere but I don't think he knows so I really can't expect or explain anything."

"I'm going to kill him when you find him."

"I have a feeling you'll have to take a number." Derek nods toward Callie's door, "How much longer do I have?"

"A few hours but still hurry. I don't need your lackadaisical approach on this one."

"Yes…honey." He clenches his jaw, "Oh Happy Valentine's Day by the way. I was thinking-"

She shakes her head, "Derek I'm working. Find Mark, we can talk later."

"Yeah." He pinches his brow as soon as she stamps away knowing full well that if his friend doesn't pull his head out of his ass and show up then both of them will be paying the price. With a sigh and a disheartened frown he pulls his phone out and dials again completely expecting to get voicemail. "Hello?"

"Hey man." Mark's voice responds.

"Where the hell have you been?" Derek demands giving Addison a thumbs up when she peeks through the blinds.

"Getting Callie's Valentine's present. Listen to this. I got some old guy to give us his yacht for the night. How cool is that? I'm going to make her dinner which should be hilarious…but she needs to laugh…Derek?"

"You need to get here now."

"I have the rest of the day off. I cleared it with Richard-"

"It's time."

"Time for what?"

"God…" Derek mumbles, "It's show time so run back to your place, grab a few things and get down here."

"But…it's too early. She's only…Are you sure?"

"Well she's in a gown and Addison seems convinced that your son is coming out today so maybe you could try and grace us with your presence before they kill me." Derek snaps his phone shut without a goodbye and slips behind the closed door to see Callie grasping Addison's hand tightly. His wife appears to be on the verge of tears and the monitors beep with glee as Callie's contraction peeks.

"He's on his way."

"He's a dead man." Callie mumbles catching her breath.

**_--_**

"Don't talk to me! You did this!" Callie shouts three hours later in between pushes. She vaguely heard Mark whispering a good job in her ear as she lies propped up on his chest but she couldn't care less.

"Nice work Callie, take a second. Breathe." Addison instructs looking up.

"She can say it?" Mark teases.

"Someone make him leave!" Callie pleads bearing down again.

"Mark, I advise that you just shut up and let her squeeze the hell out of your hands." Addison warns looking up at him, "Ok, we're crowning. I can see the top of his head Cal. Not too much further to go."

"Oh…" Callie whimpers almost purposely trying to crush Mark's hand.

"Big head." Mark remarks looking up at the mirror on the ceiling. Addison glares at him and he frowns, "He has a lot of hair baby, your hair. It's beautiful."

"It's not beautiful when you're pushing it out!" Callie screams giving way for another push seconds later. They clamber on slowly, Callie really wishing that the stupid medication hadn't seemingly worn off as she can feel everything, Mark smiling like an idiot behind her and Addison doing her best to stay professional as she feels excitement course through her body.

"Ok, Callie. I've got it from here." Addison announces and seconds later they hear very powerful lungs screaming loudly. She hands the infant off to the nurse who immediately places him against Callie's chest.

"He's amazing." Mark swells with pride, not at all bothered by the fact that his son could really use a bath. Callie merely sighs as the tears travel down her cheeks. He's finally here and he'll be gone entirely too soon but they don't know that. No one ever considers how little time is left.

She traces his plump pink lips hours later and brushes the already curled edges of his jet black hair back. She can't help but smile as she looks at Mark. In this moment it all feels okay. Their little family, all together, exhausted and in pain but together.

"Cal?"

"Hhrrmmm?"

"I love you so much." He states softly watching her with their son. The adoring way she touches his tiny cheeks and the manner in which she straightens the fuzzy green blanket around his body culminate into a warm, glowing feeling the likes of which Mark has never experienced before in his life. This is all new. Addison has nothing on this and he's pretty sure that she never shined this brightly with that idiot George.

"I love you too."

**_--_**

They'll tell their son that they love him far more than they'll ever mutter it to each other in the coming months but it's there whatever it means. Eventually the snug feeling will give way to annoyance as Darren refuses to breastfeed and sleep during the night without being walked around the apartment constantly. They'll tell themselves every day that this is it and their "situation" won't be addressed again until Callie is being held upright by a crew of Cristina, Addison and Derek in a darkened hallway. She'll never question his devotion in the coming months, she'll be too busy with her son to care and he'll never debate whether or not this is a good idea until it's too late. Until he's across the street at Joe's far more drunk than anyone should be at ten in the morning.

Every one around them will be convinced that they are in this for good; that they found their soul mate in this wacky, unforgiving world but they'll know the truth. In the late nights when Darren's screams fill their heads they'll know that they're together for him primarily and for themselves secondarily. And when everything falls apart on that humid, sticky summer morning it will be shown just how unstable Mark and Callie are together.

On June 27th they won't be able to save each other from the rolling river of guilt and pain. No one will.

**_--_**

* * *


	3. Blankets of night

A/N: This is like that weird, go between chapter that has to exist for the sake of the story but that I personally hate. Thank you once again for all of the support and comments, it helps knowing that people are kind of enjoying this mess. We're really going to dive in head first next chapter so have at it-

**_  
--_**  
_Blankets of Night_  
**_--_**

There's a nonexistent, not talked about rule with visible mourning. You only get a set amount of time. There's a small window where it is perfectly acceptable to wander around a grocery store looking for nothing with pajamas and a frown on and then…well then people will start to look at you worriedly and they'll talk behind your back. It varies really, some people say it's months- others as little as weeks or days but invariably as the rest of the world shifts back into normal gears and the days resume their habitual long hours the expectancy increases.

Because things can't exist in the sheltered world without oxygen for years, because it's not healthy, because it will ruin your life to live that way. But the problem is no one knows that yet. It will change everything and as people begin to demand that they act like their old selves again Mark and Callie will find themselves searching for what the even means; what it ever meant instead of doing as they are asked. There will be days in the gray where Callie will smile like she used to and moments where Mark makes a snide comment about an intern to Derek but it's all for show. The emotion, the intent, the passion from the words and actions will all be displaced and void but every one will think that there is progress being made. That there is hope in it for them after all. That a once presumably strong couple can overcome and outlast because of love and support.

They'll know the difference. When Callie comes home after work and curls into a ball on the couch staring off into space until morning strikes again and when Mark refuses to enter the apartment alone, they'll know. But they won't tell anyone because they'll think they're stronger than that. They will honestly believe that time without effort will heal every scrape and puncture wound impaling their hearts. They will want to know that if they pretend hard enough that they can fool everyone including themselves. So all of the struggles behind closed doors and the images of Mark restraining Callie so as not to allow her to demolish the nursery one door down from their place in the hallway will not be things discussed amongst friends nor the topic of any dinner parties thrown by people trying to get them out of their receding comfort zone.

One person will see through the façades and withering attitudes. She'll never say anything.

**_--_**

"Make it stop…" Mark grumbles throwing another pillow over his face.

Callie doesn't respond but eventually heaves her still aching body from the mattress. They have been home for one week and not only have they not settled upon any sort of schedule but he has yet to breastfeed regularly as well. It's stop and go and then bottles and mostly it just hurts. Callie feels like a waking ghost in her own house as she stumbles toward the white bassinet on the far wall from the bed. She reaches down and sees her red faced, bleary eyed newborn son wailing and all she can do is sigh.

She breaks free from the room in an effort to help Mark sleep well before his first day back at work. "Baby….shhh….shhh…" She murmurs pacing the hallway and then retreating into the nursery for another attempted go around on the rocking chair. She's convinced he would look much cuter in his own fun themed room if he wasn't crying all of the time and grins when she thinks about him at an older age playing with blocks and running dump trucks along the heavy carpeted floor.

Undoing her nightgown she waits patiently for Darren's verdict only to be rejected again. She's told him numerous times that his father seems to have no problem with her breasts but her son is having none of it. "Please eat." She whispers well below his screams as tears fill her eyes. She's sleep deprived, in pain and simply frustrated by his reproach. It was supposed to be simpler than this. She was certain she would have a very healthy, hungry son with a soaring appetite. Instead he's finicky and impatient and couldn't care less about breast milk in any form or formula. "Darren Alexander Sloan you will eat this minute or….or I'll-" Her voice cracks in the dark room, streaming light seeping in from the opened drapes. The tears pummel downwards toward the ground and she sniffles loudly before hearing Mark's warm hand on her shoulder. "He won't, he just won't- he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you." Mark replies, then kisses the top of Callie's matted black curls that are piled into a messy bun by the base of her neck.

"He does." She wipes at her eyes and brushes her son's angry mouth over her nipple again, hoping in vain for a result. "Take him."

"Callie-"

"Mark, just take him. I'm going back to bed." He reaches down as she lifts up the boy carefully. He tentatively adjusts him against his chest, feeling proud that he can at least help versus the first few days at home where he was certain he was either going to crush him or drop him.

"It's not you Callie." He says wistfully as she saunters out and down the hall. He lowers his voice to address his son in a most serious manner on his way to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle from the refrigerator. "You need to listen to your mother young man, she's a smart lady and I don't like to see her feelings hurt even if you are…cute."

His hand brushes the cold metal handle and he pulls back to reveal any empty shelf where the bottles are supposed to live. "She's not going to like this." He grumbles and caries the crying infant back toward the bedroom.

"Mark! I told you to feed him." Callie bolts upright, half awake.

"I tried." And this is still incredibly awkward for him, "There aren't any bottles left- did you…did you pump tonight at all?"

"I forgot." She rises to her knees and takes the baby back again. By some stroke of magic or his starvation outweighing everything he manages to latch on and suck feverishly. She sighs and strokes his cheek feeling the full weight of the day on her shoulders. The dishes are piled into the sink, the garbage full of dirty diapers really needs to be taken out at some point and the laundry is beginning to overflow out of all of the hampers but since their boy doesn't appreciate being set down unless he is soundly asleep then there has been little time to accomplish personal grooming let alone keeping the apartment clean.

Mark slides in next to her to watch with odd fascination and bubbling appreciation for all of the things that Callie has brought into his world. He meant it when he said he loved her but he hasn't been able to say it since. He's not sure what it is that's going on. There are no fireworks or insane burning passion but there is a cool, calm comfort that takes hold of his heart when she is around. Whatever it is, he'll take it. "Look at him go. That's my boy."

"Yeah, well you don't have to feel him going against your nipples-" She retorts and then closes her mouth tiredly, "Sorry."

"I'm just happy he's eating." Mark whispers, brushes the fallen strands of hair off her forehead and then scoots in between the blankets of unforgiving night to hopefully catch a few hours of sleep.

Two hours later he hears the screams again and this time there is no comforting the young Sloan. So Callie leans against Mark as they plod their way down to the cold laundry room with a bouncer in hand. Addison told them that this works for some infants, they just need the movement but what Darren apparently wants is connection so they return and walk around the apartment for the next three hours, bouncing and swaying with their steps until Mark has to leave and Callie finally manages to set down the exhausted newborn without jostling him into reality again.

**_--_**

Callie gave up on sleeping more than an hour and fifteen minutes at a time on day 9. She gave up trying to breastfeed on day 12. She gave up trying to do anything without her son in one arm on day 13. They discovered quickly that the only thing that kept him calm and happy was being held by someone. It didn't matter if it was Mark in his dirty scrubs from the hospital or Callie's bare skin he just needed closeness. While they relished at his cravings and their ability to provide exactly what he desired to get the sweet cooing noises into the warm apartment it was also starting to take a toll on who they were are people.

Suddenly they were Mommy and Daddy and that was not a role Mark was ever born to play. Bastard, manwhore, dirty-filthy-no-good-asshole, those things he could do in his sleep because that's what people expected from him but then there was suddenly this new being on his lap that only knew love. He didn't know his parents weren't married, he didn't know all the sordid twisted tails of their life before him. It was starting over. Starting fresh with someone who only saw the good and with any luck could be sheltered enough, in Mark's opinion, to never see the bad in the world until he was old enough to deal with it.

He remained vigilant in the night hours, taking turns with Callie on who would pace the halls and change diapers but if he was honest the early morning hours with his sleepy son were the best. He would stare out the window in the kitchen and tell Darren everything that was going on outside in a low, comforting voice. Tell him about how the newspapers were out being delivered to all the suburban houses (that he was trying to convince Callie to just look at for once because he knows their neighbors are already complaining) and about how the planes were flying overhead bringing important to and from Seattle. He would explain slowly what he thought each patron that filled the taxi cab below was doing and they bonded. Over silly stories that Darren couldn't know to be false and steaming cups of coffee they became father and son. A seemingly invincible duo. Mark was going to teach him about home runs and women and Callie would make sure he knew how to cook properly and do his own laundry before going away to college to be whatever it is that he wanted to be.

And aside from the fact that he was working 12 hours a day, sleeping in between surgeries wherever he could find a flat surface (one time in a shower stall because it was quiet), trying to convince Callie that he was in this till the end of time while not actually getting to talk to her in more than five minute intervals, and basically dead on his feet from exhaustion he knew that he wouldn't trade the sunny particles of light filtering in from the windows and the warm aroma of caffeine while his son spit up all over his clean shit for anything in the world.

This was his new life and he was delighted to have it.

**_--_**

Callie was positive that she loved kids. She was good with kids. She would build towers and smash sandcastles and help dismember or dress Barbie's depending on the child but being a mother to a newborn has been challenging. Even when the hormones settled and she got over being rejected at feeding time there was still a struggle. Callie wanted kids, not an infant as it turns out but she tries to look at it as a layover until he gets there and she's seeing amazing improvement everyday. From the way he yanks on her hair when she blows on his bare tummy to the way his toothless smile has started to make her whole day, her son has taken a hold of her soul and refuses to let go.

Her favorite part of the day is story time which as luck would have it happens a lot. She reads to him when his eyes begin to droop and even sometimes when they aren't so that he can smack the thick pages with his fists and kick wildly as she attempts to tell a tale about bears or penguins or race cars and trains. She loves the way his eyes follow her around the room now and the way she never knew it was possible to love someone who can't walk or talk so much. She laughs when he makes silly faces and cringes every time there is a diaper to be changed but she can say without any doubts that this has made her a better person.

She's learned that sleeping isn't that important as long as he is dry, full and content. She's noticed how selfless she's begun to be and how vanity just fades when your son couldn't care less if you are wandering the house in sweats or expensive jeans. He's showing her a new phase of life; one where being the girl in the back of the classroom who eats her hair couldn't matter less. In his eyes she isn't the freak of the story, she's the hero. He's teaching her that being herself isn't something to be ashamed of.

He's fixing what George broke and she never cared to put back together again.

**_--_**

"Sloan you look like shit." Alex mutters behind his mentor's back. There was no returning to the gynie squad after Addison came home. There was simply too much complexity there and he was not willing to dabble in things that would move his focus off of being successful.

"Karev! If you would stop running your mouth than maybe I could have my coffee before morning rounds and would look pretty enough for your standards. I should remind you though that I'm taken though so don't get any wise ideas about you and me." He stuffs a twenty into the younger mans hands and practically dares him to turn around and say something, instead the young resident rushes off to fill a cup with a bone dry cappuccino.

"Now, now it's not fair to take out all of your aggression on the children." Derek taunts from behind, filling out a chart on one Mr. Tilman who needs a hefty tumor on his spinal cord removed.

"It's not aggression and it's not my fault he's incompetent." Mark retorts and looks to the files on his left while accidentally ramming his foot into the counter as he moves, "Shit!"

"Still not sleeping?" Derek grins.

"I sleep…sometimes." Mark huffs and drops the pen from his pocket onto the papers in front of him. At four months and growing Darren is still a handful. A handful that likes to be held until arms fell like falling off.

"I thought they were supposed to be on a schedule or something."

"We're on a schedule. It's called he does whatever he wants and we try and play catch up."

"Sounds like loads of fun. When is Callie coming back to work?"

"Tomorrow. Webber won't give her anymore time off but I don't know how I feel about-"

"They'll be fine." Derek remarks and then grunts at his blaring pager. "You would think Addison could just call me instead of paging me and making me chase my tail around the hospital."

Mark's heart skips a beat at the sound of her name and he's still not comfortable discussing things, unfortunately Derek seems to think things are a-okay again and shares too many details on too many subjects for his liking. "Yeah."

"Hey, maybe we could take Darren tomorrow for a little while. I know Addie has been wanting to spoil him and I bet you and Callie could use a night out…or in." Derek winks.

Mark smiles at the innuendo remembering how delicious his girlfriend looked this morning in her tank top and little shorts trying to get his son dressed for the third time that day. "That would be nice. Really nice. I'll let her know. Thanks man."

"My pleasure…or maybe I should say my Visa's pleasure. Your son is going to come home with so much crap….but at least he'll be tired out, maybe even enough to sleep."

"We do not have any more room for baby crap. Tell Addison that please." He doesn't talk to her. They haven't spoken or been left alone since the day he confronted her in the linen closet and he'd like to keep it that way because even though he is happy with Callie most days, his heart still pines and aches for the redhead in the most terrible way.

"I make no promises."

"You need to get control." Mark smirks and walks off, a little bounce in his step, hoping to possibly get lucky for the first time in months.

"Like you, right?" Derek snorts behind his back and then lifts his pager from his scrubs when it begins vibrating again.

**_--_**

"He's so cute!" Izzie squeals, jumping up to visit the Sloan household as they pour into the cafeteria.

"I thought you hated him." Meredith voices spearing the piece of chocolate cake in front of her. No news in Shepherd-land has left her morose and unbearable.

"She hates what he represents, not the actual infant….because somehow that makes her a better person than just hating them." Cristina corrects and returns to the magazine in front of her. "And he is kind of cute…in a bad ass vampire sort of way."

"Right." George huffs and then scampers off before anyone can comment on his jealousy or immature antics in dealing with the fact that his ex-wife would have rather have children with some manwhore than try and salvage what they had when he asked months ago. It was probably a long shot to ask her to come home after things fell apart with Izzie but he had to try something. Callie slammed the door in his face.

"He needs a leather jacket or something. And sunglasses, definitely sunglasses. Oh! And a Mohawk." Cristina continues on as Alex, Meredith and Izzie watch with wide eyes as Callie lifts her temporarily quiet son out of his carrier and displays him proudly to Addison and Derek.

"Cal…he's amazing." Addison squeals.

"You said that last week."

"Well, he still is. How's the first day back going?" She steals the boy from her friend and warmly looks over his growth before snuggling him closer and not thinking about the many, many ways this could have easily been her and Mark's baby.

"Oh, now you are going to have her wanting one. Thanks a lot." Derek quips with a smile and smacks Mark on the back. Addison's jaw drops and Derek shrugs apologetically knowing that they have been trying for months with their friend Naomi's help to spawn their own little bundle. It's not something that they are talking about though. The very real possibility of it not happening is enough to make Addison think they'll jinx it if it's spoken of.

"Well they're not all their cracked up to be, I can tell you that right now but my kid's basically brilliant so we got lucky. Tell them what he did this morning Cal." Callie shakes her head confused and straightens the tiny socks on Darren when one tries to work its way free. "He slept in his own room for like six hours straight, it was amazing."

"Ummm…congratulations?" Derek questions and looks over at his wife cooing over the tiny body pressed to her shoulder.

"I talked to Callie." He lowers his voice and steers Derek away, "And she's really freaking out about leaving him. It's the first time-"

"I can watch kids Mark."

"I know, just-"

"We got this." He smiles over at Addison as she bounces up and down when Darren gets too fussy for the large crowd around him. He watches as Cristina pretends to be uninterested but toys with his black, curly hair and as nurse Debbie tries to steal the boy away. No doubt the boy will be as popular as his father.

"Ok." Mark turns back to Callie as she begins to go over the heavy looking purse thing she changed into a diaper bag after citing that everything else was too cutesy or hideous to be carried around in public. Eventually the masses go back to work and he is leading her out the hospital doors and assuring her that everything is going to be okay if she isn't there for ten minutes.

**_--_**

"We haven't been alone in months." Callie announces slipping her coat off and draping it across the back of the couch.

"No we have not." Mark takes the opportunity to sweep in and crash his mouth into hers. He runs his tongue along her bottom lip until she sighs and then it's all a matter of peeling off clothing and stumbling to the bedroom so he can show her all the things he's been thinking about while she's been recovering.

"No, no. Mark no." She gasps pushing back on his shoulders. Divested of her own top and his hands working on her zipper she steps away from the lickable man in front of her.

"Callie, baby, please do not make me beg. I'll do it but you'll pay in the long run." He gripes letting go of the metal button.

"I was going to say shower." She winks and tosses the cascade of black locks over her shoulder with a sultry grin.

It takes him about three seconds to jump out of his pants and boxers and sprint to the bathroom. "I like where your head is at." He whispers attacking her neck when she bends over to turn the faucet on.

She steps in rather than replying and drags her fingernails along the broad plane of his chest until he complies and follows suit. "Make me scream Mark." She teases lowly in his ear.

**_--_**

Two finished rounds of scorching, much needed sex and more than three hours left before the Shepherd's drop off their baby boy Mark collapses onto the couch with the box of pizza he just paid for. They decided on the way home that they were far too tired to go home and get dressed up to go out. He secretly likes this better anyway.

He offers the dinner to her and she shakes her head but nuzzles into his chest. "Cal you should eat. You had-"

"I'll just grab some salad or something out of the fridge."

"You're beautiful and you will eat." He pushes her head back and grabs the box off the coffee table.

"Beautiful nearly threw your back out earlier while you were trying to support me in the shower, don't think I didn't notice-"

"My foot slipped woman. There was water all over the place. Don't scrutinize my technique. I know I'm a little rusty but you'll make me feel bad." He waves the opened box in front of her nose and she finally gives in grabbing and swallowing quickly.

"Could've fooled me." She smiles, already beginning to feel the delicious aching of her thighs.

"I miss this." He announces when she has her fill and the only noise is the TV vibrating against he wall as they divulge into "real life" medical shows. Mark's seen more gore wandering the waiting rooms but they're comfortable and the remote is about four inches out of arm's length.

Her heart stiffens when he begins talking about how great it is to have a night off and how much he misses just being together without another's presence. The novelty of their son is starting to fade and wane and she can see every fear being confirmed. "…but he's amazing so I guess I'll take what I can get." She exhales deeply and extends her legs as he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her completely on top of him and they drift off together. Napping is severely underrated.

Callie doesn't startle when the doorbell rings and Mark somehow manages to slide from her tight grasp to greet the pair on the other side. "How was he?"

"Good." Derek nods.

"He sounds a little stuffy." Addison says quietly looking back at the infant Derek is holding. It was fun to pretend for an evening that she had a family.

"Add, it's nothing." Derek grumbles and hands over the still heavy bag.

"He ate about an hour ago, right before we left and he just fell asleep in the car. Derek wouldn't let me buy him anything but we did go to the park and he laughed when he saw the ducks so-"

"That's good." Mark stops her and shifts uncomfortably on his feet. This moment. The three of them in their love triangle and one baby is exactly what his life could have been years ago. He focuses his attention of the sleeping infant with the blue blanket wrapped around him instead. He loves the way Darren looks relaxed in his sleep, the way his innocence is unscathed by the world around him and mostly the way he so closely resembles his mother. The hair, eyes, ears, little lips are all Callie but then there's this little touch of Mark in the nose area that reminds him that he made this and all of the complicated messes disappear.

"We should go." Derek voices and slips an arm around Addison trying to tug her away.

"Thank you for watching him…it was nice to have a second to breathe."

"I'm glad."

"We'd be happy to watch him again." Addison nods, "He's a good kid Mark."

"I know."

**_--_**

The only thing Mark will hear the following morning is a strangled cry coming from far off. His name will echo off the walls only once but he won't recognize the terrified voice saying it. When he jolts from bed and scrambles into the nursery, legs still tired from sleep and eyes half open he'll see them. Callie clutching the baby to her chest and silently screaming. Her mouth open but no sounds leaving it.

He won't understand until he sees her eyes. Then he'll know.

It'll all be downhill from that moment on.

**_--_**

* * *


	4. Through a glass darkly

A/N: The moment has come and it's not pretty but I hope you semi enjoy reading through the mess. Thanks to Hannah for looking it over. :)

**_--_**  
_Through A Glass Darkly_  
**_--_**

Mark will want to be the kind of guy who holds Callie and strokes her hair so she can sleep just a touch better at night. He will desire to be the man who maybe can't fix the situation but can help fix the way they are caught up in it. The better fellow who can support a grieving mother.

But outside of a few isolated incidences he won't be any of those things. She won't let him.

Callie will want to be the kind of girl that clings to Mark's shoulders and drowns his shirt in salty tears. She will desire to be the woman who can still function with a smile in her day to day life and not be completely consumed with the guilt and sorrow. The better gal who can really be there for her boyfriend and help him as he struggles to stay afloat.

But outside of a few isolated incidences she won't be any of those things. He won't let her.

Sometimes what people want and what people are capable of doing are two different things. Because no matter how much Callie wants to adhere to Mark like he's the only lifeline in the black churning sea it won't happen. A few breakdowns here and there will splice a connection but it will be more for the sake of getting her to settle down than an action that either wants to be partaking in. And no matter how much Mark wants to be the good guy who makes the sun shine and the world spin again he won't be able to, whether that be due to his own limitations or because it's simply impossible, will never be known.

**_--_**

It's a moment. One second where Mark's heart is racing but there's still a tiny voice in the back of his head saying maybe, just maybe, he is overreacting. When Callie turns around, wild eyed and lips frozen in fear that small voice strangles itself with a noose. He stands. Watches her smoothing the infant's loose sea turtle pajamas over his still back. He'll regret that instant for the rest of his life. Without using logic or common sense he'll tell himself daily and nightly that if he just would've stepped forward sooner and taken control of the situation that Darren would've lived; that he would have a reason to keep living.

"Callie give him to me." He whispers. The only light in the room is beaming in from the opened window and certainly it's odd that their son slept so long but since he served as their alarm clock and it's their one day off this week no one noticed. They'll both spend months wishing that they could've been bothered to check on him in the middle of the night but they'll never tell each other that; they'll never tell anyone.

Callie's face goes void. Pale and lifeless contrasting harshly with her dark eyes that decline the thought of watering. She doesn't stop swaying her son back and forth and rubbing his matted curls and for a split tenth of a second Mark thinks maybe he's being melodramatic again because this could easily be a scene from any one of the previous months but doctor mode takes over in the next tenth and he is literally fighting his girlfriend on surrendering the baby into his arms. Finally he pries the boy free from Callie's cold and shaking hands.

He checks for a pulse and gets nothing. He checks airways and comes up empty handed. Compressions are started carefully, certainly not wanting to inflict more harm. In the calmest voice he can manage while holding his own lifeless son he tells her, "Callie call 911. My phone is on the nightstand by the bed."

She doesn't move. Her feet are cemented in time. Stuck to the minute where it all ends. Mark's voice turns venomous with a, "Calliope go!" She staggers from the room and calls in a daze. They'll never reason with themselves on calling 911. Never question the possibility of them driving the "patient" in themselves and in retrospect (Callie in no shape to drive and Mark's hands tied) it will be the one good choice in a handful of others.

**_--_**

"4 month old-"

The paramedic is cut off by Miranda Bailey's demanding voice. This is not another patient and she refuses to have him addressed as such. "Shut up!" She looks back behind him, "Mark what happened?"

He swallows heavily. He has no answers here. "I don't, we don't know."

"Ok. Someone clear a trauma bay and page Dr. Winfield." She barks and moves them all inside.

"Who'd you guys kill?" Izzie laughs looking over the pair. Mark bare-chested with white and navy plaid pajama pants and Callie in short little boxers and a black camisole minus a bra. She should be freezing but she's not, she doesn't feel anything but pressure slowly building, praying for its release. Their bare feet slap the clean tile lightly, like they are floating.

If Dr. Stevens had any sense in her head she would have noticed that seconds earlier the notorious baby Sloan was wheeled in but she wasn't paying attention. Callie looks back at her with a clenched jaw that says it could destroy Izzie with one bite but then shuffles her feet down the hall without a word. "What's with them? And who comes to work in their pajamas for crying out loud?"

Meredith chortles, shakes her head and leaves the blonde to go see what's happening. "Don't know Iz."

"What's going on?" George asks suiting up in a yellow trauma gown and snapping on his gloves for the call he just got. He doesn't know that page has been canceled yet, he doesn't know it is for a dead baby. Izzie walks away with a heavy stomach and leaves him to concoct his own answer.

**_--_**

"What have we got?" Addison asks without looking up. Alex is trailing her but is smart enough to open his eyes before waiting for stats to be rambled off because his boss has been clumsy and out of it for the last week and he's tired of picking up her slack. He nudges the redhead and her only thought is an audible, "Oh."

"Yeah." He responds mindlessly.

"What are you doing here?" Callie asks.

"I was paged. Miranda get her out of here."

"You aren't his doctor!" Callie shouts and Mark would clamp his hand over her mouth because this could get ugly but he's too busy watching his tiny son turn shades of abnormal color. Addison ignores the remark the best she can knowing too well that patient's families sometimes get obnoxious and crazy in the face of danger but she'll admit later to Derek that it stung more than it would have if it was some random mother off the street.

"Miranda please, I can't do this with them in here." Addison begs and pulls the stethoscope from around her neck and gets it out of the way. She won't be needing it. That much is already obvious.

"I'm not leaving him!" Callie shrieks as tight arms circle around her biceps. "Work!" She demands, nodding toward Addison and her growing group of doctors and nurses. "Do something, someone do something!"

Alex turns to Mark during the exchange and fixes him with a hard glare. "You know you can't be in here so take her and get out." Mark shakes his head and it takes Alex roughly pushing on his chest to snap back into reality. "Dr. Sloan, I will forcibly remove both of you from the room." Alex asserts not daring to watch Callie explode on everyone else. If Mark were in his right mind he would understand that and while Alex can appreciate that gravity of the situation he also recognizes that his and his mentor's ability to do their jobs is being directly interfered with. "Go, I will update you as soon as possible." Mark nods and stumbles out of the room; not glancing at Callie as Miranda finally pulls her weight literally and shoves Callie out the door.

She turns back gravely to Addison who is clearly wracking her brain on what to do by tugging on the red strands of hair that are firmly attached to her scalp. "Let's get to work."

Addison swallows and Alex looks toward the luminescent medical supplies on the tray to his left. They all know there is nothing that can be done to bring back the dead. They need a miracle and they aren't going to get one here this morning. Instead they shuffle about calling orders for various medications and monitors and paddles knowing damn well that it's futile. But they push and they push hard because someone has to go into that waiting room in a few minutes to deliver the crippling blow. Plus they need their consciences cleared by knowing there were no other options to resort to.

**_-- _**

Mark's not sure how long it's been. Forever, one minute, it all feels the same. He kicks his legs out in front of him and stares straight ahead at the interns wandering the halls and nurses looking busy with charts and wheelchair bound patients. He took the seat next to his girlfriend out of habit but neither has offered a hand of support to the other. They refuse to believe they'll need it. They refuse to think that Alex and Addison are anything short of gods who will bring their cranky, tired, screaming son back out to them any moment now. He looks around and notes that at some point Cristina took the seat next to Callie and is fiddling with her pager like it's any other day. Anyone who knows the curly headed resident knows how big of a step this is; how hard it is to sit here and not do anything. Not a good sign.

Derek is behind them staring at some journal article praying to whatever god will still have him that this doesn't turn out badly. George is wandering around completely oblivious looking for his resident, Meredith who is presently gathering up some scrubs and borrowing shoes from people for Mark and Callie to wear. Bare feet and pajamas are not exactly sanitary and she knows in the long run they will appreciate her small actions. She likes to help in whatever way she can. Izzie, conversely, is working on a patient and feeling mighty sad for herself because no one paged her, however understandably so, to help with the crisis.

Richard stormed into the room with the closed blinds and door about twenty minutes ago and is fighting his morals, ethics and doctor's instincts on what to do next. He's watched them all fight for something that isn't happening and he knows they are all too involved to stop. It's his call, as the chief and superior in the room, but having the choice over something like this is the last thing he ever wanted when he took the job all those years ago. His eyes catch Addison's briefly before she hangs her head and pulls her hands back. "Stop." She announces and then looks over her shoulder at the clock because in her rush to get down here she forgot to put the watch on that is sitting on her desk upstairs.

"Time of death 9:32 a.m."

"No, no. We can do this." Bailey ignores, checking the monitors again.

"Stop it. It's over." Addison orders and Miranda blatantly ignores her.

"It's not over."

"Miranda." Richard warns carefully as the snap of Addison's gloves fill the emptying bay. Alex nearly jolts from the room as soon as the door is available only to hear Addison requesting that he go round on all of her patients when he really needs a minute to himself. Even he has a limit on what he can stand, though no one will ever be privy to that private tidbit of information.

And then there were two. "I can-" Richard begins unsteadily.

"No, it's my job." Her voice is detached and cold and he knows exactly what Addison thinks she is achieving by taking a step back and removing herself from the situation. It won't help but he can't tell her. She has to learn.

"Go ahead." He holds the door open for her watching her jaw tremble slightly and then steady itself. "I'll be right behind you." He whispers so only she can hear as they walk slowly down the hall. She counts the clicks of her black heels for no reason other than to settle the nerves that are threatening her in the form of bubbling nausea and a heart that refuses to stop banging against her ribcage when it thuds. She's all to certain people can hear it racing as she passes by.

The second she sets foot into the small, cramped room full of expectant friends and co-workers, her breath hitches. It takes every ounce of strength in her body to stay upright and focused. They'll know as soon as they look up and see her face but she has to say it, she knows she has to say it so instead of pulling them aside and cautiously stroking their arms in an attempt to soften the blow she just opens her mouth and repeats the same line she has said countless time before. The difference is she will never forget this one. "I'm so sorry. We did everything we…could. If you would like to see the body I can arrange…" Her voice drops and no one is looking at her, it's as if time is standing still.

Richard touches her shoulder and she jumps inwardly. "Cal." She whimpers as her friend watches her with disgust and trepidation. Being a doctor has never felt this unfulfilling in her life. "I did everything I could think of."

"Well you should have thought harder." Callie seethes quietly. Mark's still in shock but she is headed straight up for anger as the first step. "I trusted you! I trusted you to watch him and look what happened."

"He…he was fine." Derek's voice breaks the public conversation and seconds later he is at his wife's side trying to hold her as she pushes him away.

Addison teeters on the edge of the canyon, "He was a little stuffy after our walk in the park, I didn't think it was anything Callie I swear, he didn't have a fever. I checked- I did- and I told Mark about it and-"

"Why didn't you tell me? I'm his mother. Me."

"You were asleep." Derek supplies and Cristina shifts in her seat so that it creaks and then everyone is watching her.

"You can't tell Mark anything! What were you thinking! He doesn't listen; he doesn't even care about anyone but himself!" It's not true but she's on a roll and when the pressure gage burst in her tattered heart all she could feel is pain. Someone else needs to hurt too, damn it. "You should've told me, you should've…" She drifts, her brain kicks into overdrive and then suddenly it's all Spanish words flowing from her mouth and she is trying to push past Derek and Addison to find her baby. He's not dead. He can't be.

He was so alive and happy yesterday. He spit his pacifier out in the car because he hates it, she remembers and he always tries to pull his socks off because sucking on his feet is the best thing in the world and he was just here yanking on the hair that she had braided perfectly for work the day before. She was angry with him, she scolded him for something he couldn't control and now he's gone? It's inconceivable. Finally the Spanish mumbles turn into loud, splashing shrieks of, "No…no, no…my baby…no, no." Her body convulses brutally as she gives into the tears and her throat shreds with every syllable that wrenches itself free. She falls sloppily into the arms of Cristina, Addison and Derek in the hallway on her way to see Darren.

They collapse under her violent protest of kicks and misplaced elbows and then it's three doctors and a silently sobbing mother in a pile under the brightest florescent lights possible. Addison can't stop her own tears and it's Cristina who takes on the duty of pulling Callie's hair out of her eyes with a free hand that isn't buried.

Derek freezes in absolute panic, legs tangled with everyone else's when he thinks about the news his wife chose to share with him this morning in her office. Just minutes before they were paged, Addison handed him a positive pregnancy test with the brightest smile he has ever seen on a woman. Now she's here choking on tears and he can't fix anything. He should've paid attention when Addison said he was congested, he should've followed her motherly instincts; he shouldn't have disregarded a pertinent piece of information. Most importantly he shouldn't have insisted on celebrating by nipping at her neck earlier when her pager was buzzing on the desk. Maybe if he would have let her leave when it started then everything would have been different. He gasps under the weight of the crushing guilt and tries to focus elsewhere.

All he can hear is Callie gagging behind him and then suddenly his shoulder is drenched in thick, frothy stomach acid. No one apologizes. No one moves.

**_--_**

George finds Mark across the street about the same time Callie pushes Addison into a wall roughly and tells her to go to hell and Cristina escorts her from the almost unfair (because really, no one would put money on the gangly redhead for this) fist fight to the locker room to get changed and cleaned up. Sometimes it really sucks being the repeat intern. Sometimes it really sucks watching the woman you almost loved go through this and what sucks worse than that is trying to help the man who you are mostly jealous and a little afraid of. "Dr. Sloan." George acknowledges sliding into the bar stool next to him. He doesn't get a reply other than the stiff knocking back of another shot.

There are a few things that Mark does when the women he loves cry. He strokes their back, threads his fingers through their hair gently and whispers little things that don't make sense to anyone but him and whoever it may be. Generally, it was Addison. In this moment he kind of wishes it were he and Addison who just lost their son because she is easy to predict. She would want him right now; she wouldn't be cursing him to the underworld and calling him incompetent. She may be inconsolable but she wouldn't make him feel any worse for the wear. Callie just ripped whatever form of a heart he had left out and jumped on it like a diving board. "O'Malley." He acknowledges minutes later as the thoughts swirl about his head.

"We should probably be getting back, sir." Talk about awkward, George muses.

"I have nothing to go back for O'Malley; you on the other hand are free to leave whenever you want. You always do." It's kind of a low blow but he doesn't care. He retaliates the pain when things poke him in his cage.

"Sir with all due respect this isn't about Callie and me." No matter how much he wishes it was. "This is about you and Callie. She needs…you." He gulps and orders water, almost daring himself to drink with the older man.

"She's made it clear that she doesn't need me. That I can't do anything correctly O'Malley, weren't you listening?"

Technically George wasn't there. The chief paged him away from doing sutures in the pit for this little mission. "Dr. Sloan, I know that this isn't easy-"

"Really?" Mark laughs morbidly, "What gave that away?"

George takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. He needs a game plan. It's time for one of those dazzling, inspiring little intern speeches he used all last year. Mind you, not that that got him any points on his failed exam but still. "You need to pick." He begins; the only thing coming to mind is an old adage from a patient.

"Pick what?" Mark takes another swig of the third glass on the left and clears his throat when his eyes begin to blur over with tears. Not here. Not now.

"Are you the pig or the chicken?"

Well if you asked any former girlfriend or Callie apparently, Mark thinks, he is a pig. Total and complete pig material. "What?"

"You're either ham or eggs sir. You're committed or you're-"

"A chicken?" Mark takes another drink trying to ignore the fact that the young faced intern is clearly off his rocker.

It sounded so much better all those months ago when he was referencing Callie's and his relationship. She was the pig then. She is always the ham. Always giving it her everything. Except now but George doesn't know that. He doesn't know he ruined her. "Yes…kind of. You understand."

"That's the stupidest thing anyone has ever said to me. Leave." The last word is harsh and forced but it rolls off the tongue well with the stupor he is building.

George assumes it is time to play dirty. He whispers something to Joe, who clears Mark's glasses, even the unfinished ones from the counter. "Come on, let's go."

"I'm not done. Joe! I'm not done here." He growls. He's too sober for this. He's too sober to go back to her and watch her hurt. There isn't anything that he can say or do to help and he just can't go back un-inebriated.

Joe places his elbows on the bar and leans forward enough so that only Mark can hear him. "I know that this is awful…" Joe clears his throat when his voice catches thinking about Walter at home with the twins. He'll call as soon as they leave. He just needs to hear the gurgles in the background. "But you don't stand to benefit from anything here and you know that. Drinking isn't going to take away the pain. It isn't going to bring your boy back Mark." Joe clasps the other man's shoulder tightly, giving it a good squeeze and blocking everyone else's view of his brimming eyes because he knows Mark is too big of a man with too big of an ego to get caught crying in public. "I'm sorry." He says gently when Mark stands, "Give Callie my love." Maybe it's an odd thing to say but he's the friendly bartender and as much as he denies it, these whackos are his family. When they hurt, he's the first person to know.

Mark somberly follows George back across the street flat out hoping to be hit by a car so hard that he either suffers amnesia or dies while Callie is changed by Cristina in the locker room and wonders if she can accidentally fall and knock herself out for a few years.

He's not that lucky. Neither is she.

**_--_**

"Derek, I love you but I swear to god if you don't take your fucking hand off of me I will beat the shit out of you." Addison gripes through clenched teeth. If it was Derek he would know how odd it is to hear those words out of her mouth but it's not Derek.

"It's not, I'm Meredith." She squeaks.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's okay. I just wanted to check and see if you needed…anything. Help or anything."

Addison tilts her head and regards the intern with parched eyes. She's all cried out. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"Cristina told me that Callie is asking for you. I can tell her that you went home or-"

"But I didn't go home, I'm right here."

"I know but I thought-"

"You thought we should lie to the mother of one of our recently deceased patients." Addison cuts dryly. Doctor/teacher time.

"No." Meredith shakes her head confused. This is not panning out well, "I thought that I could help."

"Well, you aren't helping anyone by being untruthful. Excuse me." She hastily exits the room, lab coat still hanging on the back of her chair and if the staff didn't know better than she could easily just be another person in the hospital, instead she is the woman who destroyed her friends. She lets herself into the lounge where she knows they have Callie holed up and Miranda and Cristina rapidly remove themselves. Just the two, possibly ex-best friends, a coffee maker and a couch and Addison is hopeful that this won't get ugly and vicious like before. She's too exhausted to defend herself anymore. "Callie."

"What happened?"

"I don't know but if you sign the form I will sit through the entire autopsy and not leave until I know exactly what…went wrong."

"I can't…I don't…he is gone. My baby is gone." Her eyes are absent; her mouth seems to move without thought or emotional attachment.

"Yes." Addison bites her lip and takes a seat next to her on the couch.

"I hate you." Callie replies darkly and not even an ounce of Addison thinks she is bluffing. Callie clenches her fists in her lap and screams as loud as she can, "I hate you, I hate you…you killed him, you did! I know you did. I hate you!"

"I hate me right now too." Addison admits quietly just as Mark steps into the room.

She leaves them together, a foot of space that looks like a canyon separating their bodies, with the knowledge that nothing will ever be the same again.

She has effectively ruined everything again even if it really isn't anyone's fault.

**_--_**

They won't leave the lounge that night. Izzie, trying to counteract her previous act of the day, will shower them with baked goods and blankets. Alex will opt for an overnight shift, hoping for some sort of development in the Darren Alexander Sloan area and will receive nothing. Cristina will sit with her back flat against the wall outside of the room her friends occupy and Derek will literally end up carrying Addison out to the car at the end of the day. It will be George and Meredith who commiserate over alcohol as Miranda sings her baby to sleep and refuses to put him down, even at two in the morning when her arms ache and her eyes scorch from being open too long. She won't be able to control it, she needs to watch him. Richard will circle the halls and check on patients that aren't his all night in fear of leaving and having something happen.

They all will spend approximately twelve hours in limbo waiting for some movement to happen inside the darkened room. But as soon as the floodgates are opened the following day and the situation grows more dire and frantic everyone will wish that they could lock the pair back inside and throw away the key.

They will drive everyone insane and lose themselves in the circus of a questionable death that was entirely unpreventable in the eyes of medicine. These things just happen. The problem is, they will convince themselves differently and spend every waking minute searching for a way they could have twisted fate to give a more promising outcome.

An unrewarding expedition that will leave the broken hearted empty handed at the end of each day until it is no longer bearable.

Then they will break. Then they will heal.

**_--_**

* * *


	5. Raising your voice

A/N: Hmmm...this is kind of ugly but I assure you that not every chapter coming up is just a black hole of doom and pity. There just has to be a starting point to move from. You guys have been amazingly patient with me and this fic and I really do appreciate all of the feedback. It helps me determine what you all can handle. On with the story-

**_  
--_**  
_Raising Your Voice…Trying To Stop An Echo_  
**_--_**

Alex and Cristina will electively skip out on the funeral in favor of heavy drinking. They won't speak to one another as they sit on Joe's hard bar stools and sip thick tequila while listening to the muffled ambiance of a dirty bar. Izzie will beg George to take her even though he will feel sick to his stomach through the entire process. He'll watch Callie with saddened eyes and tell himself that if it were his son he would've kept him alive; he would've done better than Mark Sloan managed. Meredith will volunteer to work as soon as the date is announced and no one will bother to ask if she is actually okay. Everyone is too busy with themselves.

Addison will spend the entire service turned into Derek's shoulder crying and avoiding the hard glares of all Callie's family members who are convinced that the hospital did something wrong. And in the eyes of every Torres she is essentially the hospital. Derek, conversely, will stand stagnant trying not to think about all of the ways he could fail as a father; of all the ways this could easily be him and his wife shrouded in the black, rich mourning. Miranda will be in the back with little Tuck on her hip and Tucker clutching her hand tightly. They'll kiss their son's head when he gurgles too loudly and silently thank God as they wander out the doors of the church. Richard will separate himself from the situation and keep a watchful eye over Meredith at work that day. He'll linger but never speak and she'll know why. She's the closest thing he's got to a kid no matter how much she hates it.

Callie won't cry during the funeral or the service and her mother will flat out ask if she has been sedated. She'll only wish it was true and that she'd thought of it first. Mark will hide from everyone in the bathroom, getting his tears out in private, but will emerge with puffy red eyes and no one will look sideways at him for it. He'll try to stroke Callie's arm as the preacher who never knew what a wonderful soul their son was speaks but she'll pull it away. He'll kiss her temple softly when she spins around to head to the car at the end of a very long day but all he will feel is the coolness of her skin.

In that moment he'll give up. She'll never know the difference.

**_--_**

Mark decided the first time that he held Darren that that was the best thing he had ever done in his life. Surgeries were nothing; saved lives were meaningless in comparison to what he made. In the hospital room that night, while Callie slept, he mapped out everything that had yet to come. Made mental notes of all the interesting things he wanted to teach his son, the cool new places he had found while wandering Seattle that he was going to show him and all the lessons he had accumulated in life that he would pass along so that his baby boy would never have to learn the hard way.

He swore up and down as he smoothed the newborn's unruly black waves that he would never, ever be like his father. He would never choose anything over his son and he would be at every football game even if all his kid did was keep stats or fetch water. Whatever Darren wanted; whatever he needed Mark was going to supply. He would protect him from crazy blue monsters in the closet and from the horrid bath tub drain that threatened to suck down whatever got in his way. He wouldn't fabricate complex lies and stories to confuse his son. If Darren ever asked Mark anything he was going to get the truth, because he deserved it. He deserved the world and his father was going to do his level best to provide it.

Now, as he sits next to his static girlfriend in the darkness he can't help but feel like God's fool. Like a complete idiot lying flat on his back against the hard wood floor after the rug was pulled out from under his feet. Now he just wants to take it all back and pretend it didn't happen. He wants to go back and remember that birth control exists for a reason.

**_--_**

Callie decided the first time she changed a diaper that she could seriously live without doing it again. She wanted to trade in spit up for surgeries and screaming bath times for charts but she wasn't going to be her parents. She made a promise to herself and to her son that there would never be a nanny taking him to school and there would never be a hired driver taking him to chess practices and soccer games. He would never pose for a family Christmas card alone, only to have his face photo-shopped in so that he appeared to be warmly nestled between both parents and a large fake evergreen with sparkling lights in the background.

So as much as it pained her she kept at the breastfeeding until she couldn't stand it. She stayed up nights circling the halls until the cries stopped. She gave him every ounce of energy she had because her baby was never going to feel anything short of loved. He would never be made to feel like he wasn't enough or that his parents were disappointed in him for reasons that were beyond his control. He wasn't going to be made out to be the black sheep and if he hated science and blood that was fine with her. If he wanted to be a tap dancer or carpenter he could. She didn't care as long as he was happy and healthy. Now he is neither.

Callie had plans. She had visions for her future and for her family's wellbeing. At this moment, with her back aching and feet going numb from not moving in hours, she feels like the world's worst mother. She feels bad for shrieking into her pillow when she was too frustrated, for snapping at the innocent baby when he pulled too hard on her hair or when he threw up on her fourth shirt of the day, for getting frustrated with someone who couldn't even feed himself. Now she just wants to take it all back and try again. She wants a do over as a mother.

She wants him back. More than anything in the world she wants to go back.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

"Someone should go in there." Izzie whispers to the growing group outside of the lounge door.

"Izzie when Denny died did you want us all parading through that bathroom talking to you?" Cristina glares.

"No." She shakes her head.

"Meredith when you tried to drown yourself in the bathtub did you want Derek hovering over you?" Cristina proceeds.

"No…and for the record I didn't-"

"George when your dad died did you want people trying to get you to open up about it?"

"No." He answers quietly. He doesn't want to be drug into this. He has enough problems being Meredith's intern and living with the fact that he has shoved every good thing in his life away.

"I rest my case." Cristina finishes and stretches her legs out against the glowing tile. She starts work in a half an hour but for now she's good guarding the door against unwanted visitors.

"Where's Alex?" Meredith asks looking down at her beeping pager.

"No idea." George answers. "I-I gotta go…do something." He quickly scurries free.

"This is bad." Izzie announces. "This is like worse than the bomb in the body cavity thing."

"Thanks for the newsflash doctor." Cristina returns and pulls her curly mop of hair into a ponytail.

"We have to do something."

"Why don't you go bake things and leave them alone, okay?" Izzie exits without a reply.

Meredith eyes down her friend. "That was harsh, even for you."

"The real world hurts. I'm not going to hold her hand. You know what, this isn't even about her. I don't-"

"It's not about you either." Meredith retorts and leaves Cristina to think. Certainly, outside of Addison's self-involved friendship Cristina is the closest thing Callie has to a best friend and as such she's just a touch possessive and protective. She pulls herself from the floor without much effort and decides that if they need her, they'll find her.

This is not her problem.

**_--_**

"What if it-"

"It's not our baby honey." Derek replies softly, under the low light of morning shining in above the trailer bed. He lightly touches Addison's stomach and she moves his hand subconsciously lower to the right place.

"It could be." She whimpers.

"But it's not. It won't be our baby, okay? He or she is safe and growing and nothing will ever happen-"

"It wasn't supposed to happen to Darren either." She snaps. It's not like someone killed him. He just stopped. Ceased. Failed. She failed. They all failed.

They fall quiet as the rain begins to splatter against the thin roof. Droplets mark out an irregular tempo and if Derek looks to his left he knows he'll find her crying so he keeps his jaw set, eyes fixed on the clock. He's not entirely sure she slept more than ten minutes at a time. He's not convinced he slept at all with her tossing and turning. "Addie." He relents.

"What if I-"

"You didn't do anything wrong." Here they go. He knew this was coming. The only problem is he has his own doubts and holding her upright is exhausting.

"I could've. He was…If I just would've gotten down there sooner…or if we would have had him-"

Derek sits up because he's already had enough. He grabs her dry, clenched hands and tangles them through his. He tugs and she's sitting facing him with lost eyes. "Addison, did you do everything in your power as a doctor to get him back?"

"Y-yes."

"We can't save them all." He replies and it comes out rougher than intended. Her eyes water and spill over angrily.

"I can't believe you just said that to me. This isn't another patient! This isn't another newborn that I got attached to. These are our friends Derek! Don't you feel anything?"

He exhales gruffly, rubbing his hands over the stubble that badly needs to be shaved. "Addie-"

"Shut up. I'm going to work." She kicks her feet out from under the blankets and pretends not to notice how sad he looks when she slams the door on her way out.

**_--_**

All Callie can see is memories. The drawn blinds on the window in front of her act as the movie screen while the visions dance vividly, painfully through her mind. His first bath, the day his umbilical cord stump fell off, his first toothless smile. She sees it all. On repeat, over and over and over until she wants to scream. All she sees is him, all she can feel is his weight in her arms, all she can hear are his gurgles playing over the hospital clatter in the background. She can still smell his baby powder and remember how soft his skin is.

She stares blankly, ignoring the pain in her feet, the ache of her arms. She disregards Mark because she has to. All she sees when she looks at him is the cute little way he would always let Darren fall asleep on his tummy against his chest while they were sprawled out on the couch watching the game. Her eyes well with tears when she thinks of the way Mark used to softly kiss his son goodnight or before he left for work in the morning. The way his voice was always so gentle and his hands always so nervous when holding him in the beginning.

She did this, she made him a father. She feels responsible. She feels angry. She feels shattered but nothing propels her to move from the indented spot on the couch. Nothing pushes her forward to seek out the comfort she knows he can provide. She can't touch him. She can't talk to him. She can't deal with him. It's too fresh.

**_--_**

Mark has never lost anyone important to him. The closest he's got to a death experience was Derek's dad. That hurt but he muddled through. He helped his best friend get through it by making him toss around the football and not letting him sit idle inside too long. He hauled him to the pool that summer and made Derek learn how to hit on girls. He helped. He's helpful.

This is entirely new. He made Callie a mother. He gave that to her and now it's gone and she looks like nothing he has ever seen before. Her eyes are shut down. Her mouth is pencil straight and her breathing is so relaxed he has to close his eyes tight and focus just to hear it. Supposing that he can't drag Callie out of the room since he's too afraid to touch her and admittedly a little scarred by her yelling fest earlier (even if she didn't mean it) he simply sits. He attempts to give silent support. He's there if she needs him but they both know that she won't.

**_--_**

Addison's got her head hung low over the chart. Her eyes sift through the same stats over and over hoping for something to pop out. Daring the solution to magically appear. Nothing happens. There are no white rabbits and black top hats with doves in this story.

"Dr. Montgomery?" Alex questions. A head shake is the unrequited reply. "We have…I was given this. You asked for it apparently." He shoves the papers forward under her eyes.

"Right." She looks over the questionnaire. "Why don't you go ahead with this and I'll-"

"You want me to-"

"Yes, Dr. Karev. Is that a problem for you? Do you take issue with doing your job today?" She snaps quickly.

"No ma'am." He bites his tongue and snags the papers back from her view. Today is not a day to sass his boss. He doesn't foresee a day that it will be okay and he kind of hates everyone for that.

"Good. I'll be in there shortly and Karev?" She asks as begins to saunter away.

"Yes Dr. Montgomery." He huffs. This is so not his job.

"Don't be…just don't be yourself. At all."

"Excellent." He murmurs and heads off toward the elevators already knowing that this will end badly.

**_--_**

"Address?" Alex questions clicking the end of a pen as Mark and Callie stare back at him inexpressively. "Ok, we'll skip that section. It can be filled out later." He looks down at the list of questions and feels his stomach churn. It feels so impersonal and offensive.

"Someone want to tell me what happened?" Nothing. "Was there anything unusual about the infant in the twenty four hours preceding his death?" Callie turns her head to the window and supports her head with a palm. "Did the infant suffer any injuries or falls preceding his death?" Mark bites his lip. "Where was the infant last placed?" Callie's voice cracks as she begins to cry and Alex slouches into his chair. He's going to kill Addison for this. He wants no part of babies anymore and he can't figure out why someone else can't be doing this. Some lowly intern with nothing to lose by making this couple relive the worst day of their life.

"When was the infant last known alive?" He fills in the line with their names and checks off their relationship to the baby. "We can do that part later too. What was his middle name?" Alex asks looking at the top of the stupid SUIDI form.

"Alexander. Alexander is his middle name." Mark replies flatly.

And Alex's day just got about ninety percent worse. "Right. His birth date?"

"February 14th. Do we have to do this today?" Mark answers.

"Dr. Montgomery thinks that it would be a good idea to get a head start on things."

"Then why the fuck isn't she in here doing her job?" Callie questions tuning back into the conversation.

It's a good question. One that Alex has been thinking for the last nine and half minutes. "She asked me to start while she checked in on a few things."

"She's too busy to handle this?"

"No. No, uh, I didn't say that." Alex backtracks quickly. "I-she-…fuck." His silence falls in line with theirs and he watches as Mark's feet tap involuntarily along the wheel of the plush chair. If the dangling punishment of a write up wasn't looming he would bolt and hide in the clinic for the rest of the day moping puke and stitching little cuts on whiny patients.

"Go ahead." Mark whispers after a few minutes. "I want to find out- please continue." He bites his lip when it hurts too much to keep breathing and the jolt of the movement keeps him centered. He pinches the skin on the top of his hand so that his fingernails leave deep imprints and he chews on the inside of his cheek. He will find out what killed his baby.

"Ok." Alex clears his throat. "When was the last time he was known alive?"

Mark's mind races. "Uh…8:14 p.m. June 25th." They were happy then. A happy, sleepy little family of three.

"What position was he placed in?" Callie glares at Mark waiting for the answer. Waiting for someone to blame.

"I put him on his back. I always put him on his back." He urges.

"What position was he found in?" Mark looks over at Callie and she nods through watery eyes.

"On his back." Mark answers.

"What position were the head and neck when he was last placed, last known alive and found?" Alex readies his pen as they slowly divulge the answers. This is the worst thing he has done in weeks. He slowly trudges forward covering what Darren was wearing, what was in his crib, the temperature of the room, if there were any monitoring devices present. "Please describe the infant's appearance when he was found." He's suddenly thankful that they're doctors and know what he is talking about so he doesn't have to list off the many adjectives.

"He looked…he looked normal. He looked…like Dar-ren." Mark mumbles.

"What did the infant feel like when you found him?" Addison enters and wordlessly sits next to Alex, hastily scanning the information they've covered. Nothing helpful. No red flags. Nothing. She sighs and waits. This is going to be a lengthy fishing expedition. Callie buries her face in her arms and sways the chair back and forth with her toes. There's still no answer so Alex does what they've established as routine and moves to the next question. "Did anyone other than EMS try resuscitate the infant?"

"Yes." Mark replies. What the hell else would he have done? He crushes his fist so that the short nails scrape his palms. Is this his life?

Alex skips over what exactly was done, convinced that Mark is capable. He also refuses to ask if they've ever had any other children die suddenly under their care. If Addison wants those answers then she can ask the damn questions. He has boundaries. Boundaries that are being encroached upon. "In the 72 hours before the infant's death did he suffer from any abnormal health or behavioral changes? Fever, rash, excessive crying, lethargy, loss of appetite, apnea, cyanosis-"

"Ask her!" Callie shouts loudly at Addison whose jaw quivers and then sets itself.

"Move on Dr. Karev." Addison instructs and her heart aches to just hold Callie. She wants to fix this. She wants to make her whole again.

"Was the infant given any vaccinations or medications 72 hours prior to his death?"

Mark shakes his head as Callie storms out of the room and slams the door on her way out. They all watch the blinds quiver. "Dude shouldn't you go after her?"

Mark doesn't reply, just points to the form in front of his and sniffles loudly. He aches out a guttural, "proceed" before swallowing the bile that keeps trying to revolt from his stomach.

"Did the infant have any birth defects?"

"No." Addison answers suddenly. "You can skip this section. I can answer those later."

"Ok." Alex rolls his eyes and flips to the next page. Dietary history. Great. They need Callie for the next three parts and he just knows it will be him who has to track her down. "There's-"

"I'll do it." Addison swipes the paper and heads out the door to find Callie. She wants answers too and she'll put up with a few misplaced words and unguided thoughts. Her friend is suffering; she can take it out on whoever she wants to.

"Think Callie will eat her alive?" Alex snorts and Mark gets up and leaves without a reply. He wishes someone would eat him alive.

**_--_**

"Did you use any prescription or over the counter medications, alcohol, tobacco or herbal remedies while pregnant?" Addison asks when she finds Callie in the same room she spent the night in. This time her knees are tucked up against her chest and she squeezes them tightly staring off into space.

"Go away Addison."

She sits and lightly strokes Callie's knee. "Please Cal. Let's just finish this and find out-"

"Stop. Stop it!" Callie pushes Addison's hand away violently and begins to pace the room. "I smoked once. Just once before I knew. And I drank before I knew I was pregnant. I took aspirin I think and no, no herbal remedies from any quacks. I didn't breastfed for very long. He always hated pacifiers and I couldn't get him to use it no matter how hard I pushed. You were the last one around when he ate and there was nothing in his crib except him. He wasn't sweating when I found him, it wasn't hot. Mark tried- he tired so hard. He tried and I just stood there like an idiot." She drops to her knees when her legs decide they are done and she buries her head into the ground with a sickening 'thwack' while slapping her open palms hard against the tile. "Stupid! I was so stupid…and…he's gone."

When Addison bends over the black hair fanned out across her friend's face she is met with a hard elbow to the stomach and she'll never know if it was intentional. She rolls back on her heels sputtering and tries to catch her breath. Callie's anger at herself slowly dissipates and she dissolves into a puddle of tears and saliva draining from the open mouth that is trying to sustain her life by sucking oxygen in. Every so often words are mumbled but Addison can't make any of them out so she lightly plods to the door and slips out unnoticed.

"Mark." She jumps running into him. He steps in awkwardly and she opens her warm, inviting arms. He buries his head into her shoulder and allows the hurt to consume him briefly. The hug is tight and Derek watches down the hall. Addison will not be the girl Mark screws when he's hurting this time, he doesn't care how much better it would make his friend feel. After several minutes and many unnerved glances by gossiping nurses he pushes her back and breathes heavily. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's fine." She assures him.

"It's not fine. Nothing is fine." He disappears back into their room of loathing just watching, wanting to be the helpful guy who holds her firmly and kisses it all better.

**_--_**

"Ugh, umf…magh! Mark!" Callie grunts trying to twist out of Mark's strong grasp. She's going to destroy that nursery even if she has to waste all of her energy getting into it. She vaguely recalls leaving the hospital after Richard insisted that they knew nothing else and would be in touch. Cristina drove their car with them in it and she doesn't know how in the world her friend got home. "Let go! Let go of me!"

"No." He replies and grabs her by the shoulders, spinning her around and slamming her into the wall. She slaps him hard and he feigns naivety choosing not to notice how much force was behind the action. His face tingles until it fades to a dull ache and all he can do is stare back at her unbelieving that this beautiful woman is broken enough to try and physically fight him.

The thing is Callie doesn't want the memories. She doesn't want to see his crib and his blankets with little trains on them. She wants his clothes burned and his furniture destroyed. She wants something to hurt as much as she does even if it's inanimate. "Bastard. You bastard." She chokes out as he shakes her back into reality lightly.

He feels her slam her fists against his tight chest. He welcomes the little jabs, the way her hands thunk off his flesh. It's morbidly nice to at least have her touching him. "Stop it Cal, just stop. Breathe…baby please breathe for me."

Her hands flatten against the soft blue material covering his shoulders and then she knots her fingers around it and falls against him sobbing. That night he allows himself to be open. There won't be many more moments where he gives in.

They slide down the wall and cling to one another under a dingy hall light that needs a new bulb. He doesn't look at the professional pictures they had done of their son just three weeks ago up above him. He keeps his eyes on Callie and she keeps her eyes closed. His shirt is soaked when he looks over at her hours later, her hand still wound tightly around the stretched material. He smoothes his free hand through her knotted curls and tries to think about something other than knowing this will be a rare occurrence. He just wants to hold her until it stops hurting.

They sit together all night. Callie falling in and out of consciousness, jolting upright when she realizes where she is and what circumstances lead to her getting there. By morning she is curled up on Mark's lap feeling the cool splashes of his tears on her scalp, his arm around her, clasped together tightly on her back. She shuffles in his legs and murmurs something about feeding the baby in a minute before her mind tells her that's not right.

It kills him every time she wakes up. Every thirty minutes she looks unaffected, blissfully ignorant to her own life. She wakes up Callie and within twenty seconds it's gone and she's crying again. For a brief moment he's given a glance of who she was, who he was, who they will never be again.

**_--_**

Grieving the loss of someone can take a lifetime. Some days are outright awful for them; some are filled with tentative, guilty smiles. Others are consumed with trying to remember to forget about Darren while at work and forgetting how to remember all those amazing moments with their son when they are at home. The constant movement forward is all but obliterated by deep, inconsolable sorrow on the black days and a gentle reminder that life doesn't stop even if you want it to on the light grey days.

It takes a lifetime. They don't know that. They don't know that it will always be in the background, lingering, even when things begin to feel dramatically better. They don't know that, if allowed, it can be all consuming and forever altering. Cristina could tell them. Izzie could mention it. George could slip it in during rounds. Meredith could spill it after a few hours of shots. Derek could give them a quick pat on the back and whisper how much he still misses his father but they won't. It's different for everyone. It is whatever they make it to be and no one can warn them properly, so they don't.

The never ending countdown begins now.

**_--_**

A/N: I feel like I should start telling jokes at the end or something...

* * *


	6. Mono no aware

A/N: I'm about one hundred and four percent sure I could write twenty pages of just gut twisting angst but for some reason that didn't want to happen here, these two...they have their own plans. This is a little lighter I feel, not much in way of plot development but we are moving forward, slowly in the muck. I enjoy each and every thing you have all said to me, even though I totally dropped the ball on replying last time, I suck I know. First I torture you a little and then I'm not even nice enough to say something, apologies all around. Let's get on with the darn thing, shall we-

**_  
--_**  
_Mono No Aware_  
**_--_**

There's a moment when you run, where your lungs are strained, when your heart is thrashing wildly inside its fragile cage of bones, the time when you can't remember why you even wanted to be in the race but then you reach the end and nothing else matters. Mark runs. He takes out his aggression, anger and sorrow on the pavement of Seattle, on the wet grass, under no cover from the rain. He will run for years. His body will trim down a little, his muscles will become more defined than he thought possible and he'll ache for the moment at the end of the run when he reaches his doorstep and the world begins to slow into a bright moment of aching clarity. It's brief but it's his and it's all he's got.

Callie will aim for anorexia, though not started by any real choice. It won't be that she isn't hungry or that food doesn't taste as delicious. She just won't eat. She won't do a lot of things in the coming months but as her slow desire to block the world out fades her passion for looking like she never had a son to begin with will grow. One month after Darren's death she'll start running with Mark. He won't ask why, just tell her to make certain her shoelaces are tied tight and then they'll set out together. His vigorous pace will not deter her nor will her lack of being in shape, she'll push until she feels dizzy, she'll remain determined to look just as good as she did before her baby was born, if not better. It's miniscule and shallow but she doesn't care. Her outer body will not bear the permanent marks of a life lost, only her heart and no one has to see that if she doesn't let them.

They'll wander the city streets together and yet at the same time still very much alone in the world full black clouds and grey droplets drenching their dirty running shoes. It will look like they are bonding and choosing to spend time with one another. People will perceive it to be a new hobby. They'll never know the truth behind the action.

**_--_**

"One of you should speak on your family's behalf." Elio Torres urges standing behind his wife in the apartment of his daughter and a man who she apparently shacked up with and made a baby with. They haven't heard from their sweet Calliope in months, ever since the news of her divorce and they had certainly missed out. His wife clenched his hand tightly on the plane the entire way here and it's still red from her grip.

"No." Mark replies. Originally he was afraid to meet this guy, he made Callie put it off, and made sure she didn't tell them when they called a few months ago. Now he just feels guilty because they never got to meet their first grandchild but that doesn't stop him from knowing what he wants and remaining firm in his standing. He will not get up and preach to a bunch of people he doesn't want to be near about a baby who most of them never had the pleasure of meeting. It's not about Darren today. It's about Mark and Callie but all they want to do is hide.

"It's inappropriate-" Delia argues as Mark turns away and heads down the hall to find Callie. "He doesn't listen so well." She continues on looking up at her husband's thinning white hair.

"He's better than the drunkard I had lunch with before." Elio replies and straightens out his tie in the mirror by the door.

"She looks so heartbroken El. My baby lost her baby and I can't do anything."

He turns and sweetly kisses the top of his wife's black, shoulder length curls that have been pulled back neatly into a loose bun of sorts. "Calliope has always felt things strongly but she'll get through this. I know she will."

A mere twenty feet from the presumed in-laws, that is if Callie will still have him after this fiasco has blown over, Mark listens. Hears them cooing over the family photos by the television that haven't been removed by Callie's unsupervised rage.

He quickly packed the nursery two days ago. He was methodical, left no time to linger, no time to inhale the warm scent of baby powder or to press little socks against his chest while he cried. He didn't want to but more than that urge he didn't want his girlfriend taking her frustration out on the room. Coming home to her splintered hands, a broken rocking chair and burnt piles of memories would have been worse. It would have been disrespectful. Those are still Darren's things in his mind, never mind the simple fact that he will never use them again.

"Callie, open the door." He asks quietly while knocking. It's a hard day, all their days are hard but this one especially, with the gathering of family that neither wants to see and people talking about their son like they knew him, like they know even an ounce of pain these two are sharing is a little much to bear.

"Go away." She states flatly.

"I'm coming in, one way or another so you either unlock-" He stops when the door cracks open. He follows the light to their bed where Callie stands over the deep red comforter staring at her black dress. She doesn't want to wear black but she doesn't want to be all crazy with Hawaiian shirts that say we're celebrating a lost life either. She wants a middle ground and knows her parents won't stand for anything short of tradition.

"You don't have to wear that." Mark mentions stepping closer, while she mindlessly steps away from him.

Her eyes stay locked on the fabric, waiting for it magically transform into another costume, so she can act out a different play. "Cal, it's one day-"

"It is not one day. It is everyday." She turns; eyes hate filled and breaks his heart with a swift grab of the fabric off the bed. She tugs it overhead, lets him zip her up and slips her feet into the heels her mother laid out hours earlier. Elio and Delia haven't spoken much to her or rather Callie hasn't said much to inspire conversation but she doesn't need their disapproving parenting methods today. Just not today.

When his hands linger too long over her hips she pulls back. Mark and Callie haven't kissed since the night before their son died. He's kissed the top of her head, her cheek when she sleeps sometimes but he hasn't tasted her lips and he's dying for that comfort. In a world where everything has been turned on its end and shook up like a snow globe he needs familiarity. He wants people to stop looking at him like they know some deep dark secret and he wants to kiss Callie's pain away. He'll never get either wish.

"We should get going." Callie remarks, checking her watch.

"Yeah." He opens his mouth to say something else but quickly shuts it. There's nothing to say, nothing he can tell her she doesn't already know.

**_--_**

"You're drunk!" Izzie exclaims, breathing in the raunchy stench Alex and Cristina have brought with them from Joe's. Cigars and liquor and from what she can tell someone spilled something all over them. "Did you at least bring other clothes?"

Cristina shakes her head and stumbles over to the couch. She plucks a chip from the bowl in front of her and plunges it into the creamy dip. Her stomach will later regret ever haven eaten anything but right now it tastes like heaven.

"Relax Iz. No one cares." Alex brushes by her into the kitchen to retrieve a beer. Today needs alcohol, in mass quantity. They have no answers and a hungry pack of wolves demanding to be fed.

"They will care. I care. You guys can't be here drunk." Her oven buzzer times and she slips a mitt on just in time to reach the cupcakes before they burn.

"Why are we doing this at Meredith's anyway!" Cristina shouts, her mouth half full, and then wipes her hands on her jeans.

"Because apparently, even though everyone else makes millions of dollars a year we are the only ones with a house." Izzie shakes her head and bats Alex's hand away when he tries to dip a finger into the vanilla frosting. Part of Izzie is driven by her obscene need to comfort everything that's hurting another part is driven by the guilt of all the horrible things she has thought and said about Mark and Callie in the last year. She offered Meredith's house up technically, and Callie's father snatched it up before his wife could go about the business of hiring a ridiculous catering company and renting out a large space for people to stuff their faces and blubber all over one another.

"That's stupid." Cristina murmurs, "Spawn, liquor!"

"Coming." He retrieves another bottle from the refrigerator and kicks the door shut. "Where is Meredith?"

"Working." Izzie shrugs. No amount of coercing could talk Meredith out of working today and yet somehow the chief has demanded everyone else take the day off. Richard practically banned them from the hospital.

George busts through the door with grocery bags hanging from every arm, begging for help with his eyes. Cristina smirks as he hobbles forward and Alex tips his bottle in that general direction. "Thanks guys."

"Stop bitching and be thankful this isn't your life." Cristina spins around and points to the window as black towncars begin to fill the street. "They went all out."

"Callie's family hates me; need I remind anyone of that?" George whines, throwing the bags on the counter and pacing back out to the entry way.

"It's not about you, you big…baby." Cristina sputters. She knows today really isn't about anything. Funerals are for the living and they only think that closure comes with a coffin disappearing into the moist ground. It doesn't. Sometimes it never comes at all. "Hey, maybe Callie's dad could punch George or something. That'd be fun." She laughs as the door handle creaks open without a knock.

"He tried to kill me with his eyes all morning and I think her aunt threatened to slit my throat." George answers and bolts for the stairs. He's perfectly content to hide away in Alex's room for the remainder of the day. Maybe he could sneak out the window and jump into the backyard. Anything but being mauled by the Torres'.

"Hello?" Addison squeaks nervously. She unties the belt of her black jacket and un-wrinkles her skirt with her hands. Her spare hand finds Derek's and she feels her stomach seize when she looks around the place he used to call home.

"Dr. Montgomery, Dr. Shepherd." Izzie greets warmly. She takes their coats and carelessly adds them to the rack on her left.

"Hi." Derek grins. "Something smells good."

Addison crinkles her nose and dashes away to find the closest bathroom. She's two days into morning sickness hell and she wishes she was done with it already. At this moment in time she doesn't want the constant reminder that she is growing a child combined with the acknowledgement that she can't even save one under her care. It's a bad day and it shows all over her red, puffy face.

"She okay?" Izzie questions as the door opens again and the onslaught begins.

"She'll be just fine." Derek answers, biting the inside of his cheek. He steps forward and buries himself in the living room, conversing uncomfortably with the residents that hate him. Cristina, overly protective of Meredith and Alex just thinking the guy is an ass.

Thirty minutes later everyone who wanted to be present is and the food is being devoured left and right. Alex's small supply of beer is gone as is he and Cristina is watching television without any regard for the people milling around her trying to hold conversations. It's been thirty minutes, the graveyard is fifteen minutes away and everyone knows Mark and Callie were the first ones to leave. She looks around for her friend and then sighs and succumbs to the looming appeal of classic boxing.

Seated in the car her parents rented Callie twists her fingers through each other swallows heavily. "I don't want to do this."

"I know." Mark whispers, watching the new rain drops splatter and run together down the tinted window.

"Maybe we could just go home." She whimpers.

"We can't. You know we can't Cal. These people are here for us." He takes her hand, she pulls it back for the second time today and he huffs angrily. "Fine I won't touch you. Just come inside for a little while."

"I think I'm just going to wait here." She sinks a little lower into the smooth leather and crosses her ankles over one another.

"No you aren't." Mark demands. If he has to put up with Elio glaring at him and Delia looking like she wants to punch his teeth out and steal Callie to take her home then he isn't going to do it alone. He's had about enough of her attitude anyway and he's tired of dealing with it all. He is done. He is finished with the crying and mourning and the grieving. He's had enough. Time for life to progress. It hurts too much to stay where he is.

"I want to stay here." She looks out at the wet pavement when he scoots closer.

"And I want to go get plastered but we don't always get what we want so curb the sulking and get your fine ass inside for thirty minutes so we can leave."

"No." Callie shakes her head, hair tightly wound in a prim knot at the nape of her neck.

"Fine." He throws his arms into the air and whacks them unintentionally on the roof, "Fuck it, fuck you…stay in the car and I'll go deal with your family. I'll deal with everything." He slams the door on his way out, hoping to rattle her from her state of depression and easy silence.

She'll never come inside. Secretly he'll enjoy not having to deal with her.

**_--_**

For three weeks they have sat and done nothing. They've watched leopards growing up on Animal Planet and the Civil War and Hitler's reign on various history channels. He's ordered food, paid for food and set food in front of her but she doesn't do anything but pick at it. He's noticed she eats roughly one time a day and when she does, it appears to only be to sustain life. Yesterday morning she ran with him. This morning she ran with him and he watched her struggle to keep up. He's acutely aware of what she is doing to her body and it's unsettling to watch her start to wither away in front of him but every conversation about nourishment and what's healthy and what isn't has ended poorly.

He tips the bowl of popcorn under her nose and she shoves the pink plastic from her line of sight before curling into the corner of the couch further. Mark's decided that it is like living with a ghost. She floats from room to room, never staying too long. She rarely speaks, never voluntarily starts a conversation and half of the time doesn't even reply to the questions asked of her. She showers quickly, sleeps hardly and makes a career out of staring a hole into their white apartment walls that now lack all decoration; pictures or otherwise. She stripped the place while he was out running one day last week and he came back to a home that looked so sparse he wasn't sure it was even his. Their lives used to be so bright and full of color and now they are blank slates with holes from nails of better times gone by.

He regards her carefully. The dark circles around her makeup-less eyes, her hair loosely back in a pony tail, her feet tucked under her bare legs. This is his life now and he can't think of any way to fix it or her. His phone shrieks, lighting up Callie's eyes briefly. His conversation is brief and he stands like there are hundred pound weights on his stress ridden back. "We need to go to the hospital."

Her face rises, feeling a solution looming among her sadness. "Really?"

"Yeah. That was Addison. She said they have the all the results back." Mark and Callie have been waiting in limbo for an answer for weeks. Each passing days signifies another lost in the mystery and on numerous times Callie has seen Mark playing around on his laptop looking at random diseases. He's looking for answers in a situation where none will ever be found.

"Ok." Callie nods smiles shyly and places hope where hope should never be placed- on the shoulders of a friend.

**_--_**

"The autopsy was clearly inconclusive, as I told you earlier but after receiving the final set of labs back this morning I can…" Addison drones on and on professionally before getting to the punch line, "SIDS."

Mark exhales. Callie storms out of the room with more energy than she has shown her boyfriend in weeks. Her feet stamp heavily into the hallways that have betrayed her, pound along the tile that keeps breaking her heart. That was not an answer. That was a non-answer they give people when they don't know what is wrong. That is not what happened to her son. She refuses to be a statistic. She won't be another one of those mothers.

Her aimless stomping leads her into an abandoned lounge. She pours a cup of stale coffee and sips at it angrily. Her head doesn't look up for thirty minutes, until she hears her name and feels a warm body sitting next to her. Izzie Stevens. Just what the doctor ordered.

"What?" Callie snaps.

"I heard."

"Congratulations, you have ears."

"I'm sorry." Izzie shrugs. She doesn't know exactly what enticed her into entering the room when she passed by but there was something about Callie's slumped posture that beckoned her. Now she needs a game plan. "I had a baby."

Callie's head twists up, intrigued. Not that it will be a good story, only that it will be something that she hasn't heard and it isn't about her son. "Ok."

"Her name was Hannah. I was sixteen and I gave her up because that was the right choice."

"Hmm." Callie's hums waiting for the point to the story.

"Last year, they found me….she was sick and she didn't want to see me…I gave someone a sick child." Izzie inhales, hoping that she's helping, not knowing what's coming. "She died and I wasn't there, I was never there and I don't have any right to be upset about it but I still feel something. I knew before they called me. You just know and it doesn't matter if there is a reason or not Callie…it hurts no matter what it was that took them."

"Thanks for the wisdom." Callie straightens her back and rolls her neck, letting it stretch.

"If you ever want to talk-"

"I will never want to talk to you." Callie spews angrily.

"I understand." Izzie nods and stands.

"No, no you don't. Because if you did, if you understood even the smallest bit of what I am going through then you wouldn't have even entered that door," she points, "you would've kept walking with the knowledge that telling someone your own sob story to win points wouldn't get you anywhere. You would have known that your story and my story are completely different and that I loved my son enough to keep him and stick out whatever relationship and life problems I was having. I gave everything up! I gave everything away and now I have this." She taps her own chest, "I have me and only me. Get out and don't bother coming back."

It's only slightly disastrous that Izzie had to bear witness to Callie's wrath but mostly inopportune and incidentally gut wrenching for Mark who stood outside the door and heard the entire conflict. He's tired and he's worried about her. Worried she's going to fly off the handle and do something stupid but he isn't trying anymore. Every time he reaches out she bites him and he doesn't deserve it so he takes a step back and retreats. He's in a jog by the time he reaches the parking lot and bypasses the car in favor of taking it the hard way home. In search of a way to make his head stop spinning he decides to run the twelve miles back on zero energy and little sleep because it's the only solution he's got.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

"I would like to end my leave and come back to work starting tomorrow." Callie informs Richard as he stares back disapprovingly from behind his desk.

"You have two more weeks off."

"I know." Callie drags her feet forward. She lost Mark somewhere in the last three hours of quietly mourning her son on a public couch and there's a portion of her brain that tells her she should care but her heart overrides it.

"Why do you want to come back?"

"I'm ready." She nods.

"I don't believe you." Richard conveys. His hospital has just now gotten back to its normal routine and he really could stand to benefit by not having the duo around a little longer. He doesn't need the drama, his personnel don't need the reminders and he's tired of watching Addison and Alex chase their tales every time there's mention of a possible lab coming back. They ran everything they could think of, he knows, he signed off on it and they all knew it was going to come back fine. He was healthy and alive one day and then he was dead. That's his story and Richard is only offended that it has upset so many wonderful people.

"Well, believe it." Callie takes ten seconds conjuring up a smile and the action isn't lost on him.

He watches it dissipate back into the straight line of her mouth that everyone has been seeing and sighs. He could use her, Ortho has been suffering and certainly Mark would feel his masculinity challenged enough to hop onboard and come back and it's not like they couldn't use the money. From a purely professional stand point it makes sense but from a friend's it's a horrible idea. His head wins. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, Dr. Torres but I will be requiring that both you and Dr. Sloan check in with our in house psychiatrist. If you're going to be out on my floor then I want you fit and prepared. I won't be partaking in any little games or breakdowns, understand me?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. See you on Monday."

"But it's Thursday-"

"My hospital. My rules." Richard warns.

"Right."

**_--_**

"You aren't ready to go back!" Mark shouts on Sunday evening. He's watched her carefully all weekend after Derek called and told him what he had heard through the grapevine. She can hardly hold her cup still and she bursts into tears randomly. The strain of work on top of that could send her over the edge and he doesn't want to deal with getting paged out of a surgery or being thrown off a case because Callie needs babysitting. She's safer at home, where she's already destroyed everything.

"I'm ready." She urges quietly while he paces in front of her. Their run this morning was much faster than any of the days before and Mark didn't stop when she had to bend over and tie her shoelace.

"You aren't. You cry in the shower and you refuse to eat so you'll probably pass out during your shift and you can't even respond to half the things I say to you. How can you help people when you can't help yourself?" He kicks the leg of the coffee table with his bare foot and then jumps back surprised that it actually hurt. He sinks to his knees and shuffles over to her body on the couch. He lightly places his hands on her knees, waiting for her to push them away. "Please Cal, just wait."

"Wait for what! He is not coming back! This is not going to get any better by me sitting on my ass all day staring at a blank wall. He is gone Mark, gone! Get it through your thick skull."

He bites his tongue when she tries to lecture him, for some reason he is always the idiot in his relationships. "I know that."

"Really? Do you know that? Because you walk around here like nothing happened! You run in the mornings and you come home and watch the games. You eat the same food, talk the same way, sleep just fine at night, and have no problem keeping your appearance up. You do everything the same…so why can't I?"

Mark does things differently it is only that Callie doesn't notice. She's too wrapped up in being herself that she doesn't notice that Mark is always gone from their bed in the middle of the night, sitting in the middle of the empty nursery softly stroking the carpet and telling himself to leave things in boxes where they belong. She doesn't know that he cries in the shower too and tells himself (out loud) to suck it up because life is moving on whether he likes it or not. She doesn't see that he's lost ten pounds and doesn't realize that the running is the only way he can keep his mind occupied. She doesn't see him anymore and it kills him. "I give up. Do whatever you want."

The front door wobbles heavily as he strides out. He's heading nowhere and getting there too damn fast to turn around and come back.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

Callie's first week back will be riddled with pain and reminders. She'll avoid the ER like a plague and camp out in supply closets during lunch with a disgusting cafeteria sandwich in one hand and a Milky Way in her left pocket. She'll eat because she has to and still manage to stumble out the door behind Mark every morning. She'll scribble in charts and looks at patients just like she used to. The music in her operating rooms will be loud and her drilling skills solid like nothing ever life altering happened to her.

Mark's first week back will be filled with avoidance. He'll bitch his way out of surgeries in fear of screwing up and turn away from every person who tries to talk to him. His hands will be shaky and his penmanship skewed by life's unfair treatment. During lunch he'll sit in the stairwell with a bottle of water and a Snickers hoping that sugar will dull the pain. No one will ever look for him.

To everyone around, Mark will look fine, but when he waits for Callie at night outside on the benches people will start to wonder. To everyone around, Callie will look surprisingly stable, but when she bursts into tears on her seventh day back and has to be drug from a dead patient's bedside people will start to talk. The chatter will fill their empty ears, occupy their dazed thoughts and bounce around their broken hearts until gossip becomes fact and lies become common place between the two. Then and only then, after the false beliefs have been set forth and shot down will they begin again.

After they have scraped the bottom of the barrel so many times that they aren't certain it won't just shatter out from underneath them when they touch it next, after they are positively sure that it can not get any worse, after they've tried every other way out of the dark alley- then they will turn to each other.

**_--_**

Not sure this warrants a joke but here's a dumb one anyway.

What do fish say when they hit a concrete wall?  
- Dam!

* * *


	7. We will say goodbye to everyone

A/N: So since I am convinced you all have been the best and most patient readers ever I will admit that this is a little crazy and that there are definitely more of these dark moments coming but next chapter we will see them try to come together finally. Just thought you should keep that in mind while reading this insanity. Thank you all so much for keeping me going and enjoy-

**_  
--_**  
**_We Will Say Goodbye to Everyone_**  
**_--_**

Is it worse to truly lose a person- a brother, a father, a nephew, a son, an uncle, a husband- to a undisclosed disease or complication or to lose someone who is still very much alive and breathing the air you want in the dead person's lungs more badly than you want it in your own? Is it worse to deal with a life completely displaced never to return or to watch someone slowly retreat back into themselves until they are no longer a passionate, caring individual? What happens when you lose both? What if one causes the other?

Mark will never know the extent and depth of Callie's pain just as Callie will never comprehend Mark's anguish and regrets. They can't. Even if they wanted to take that step and push forward just an inch and remind each other that they are, indeed, still together, there is no way to express the utter horror and sheer disparity of the situation. They both lost a son. But as the weeks have progressed and will continue to progress they'll gradually misplace pieces of themselves; of the life they knew together.

When Callie lost George (not that she ever really had him she realized months later) she thought she had hit rock bottom and the revoking of her prestigious job title was really just the scrape on her knee she needed to get a little reckless. When Mark lost Addison (and he truly understands now that he never had Addison the way he desired to) he thought he was done. The second he emerged from the closet where she disclosed that she was back for Derek once again he was done for. It was a slower process for him; the complete and full-blown destruction to reach the bottom of the rollercoaster. The high was too great and the spins were too complex to hit the end as quickly as Callie did but when he arrived there was no other choice. Inaction was no longer a solution.

The point is that they did get there and they provided a temporary and then a permanent resolution to all of their collective problems with a baby. Now Darren is gone and there is no easy, immediate common bond. It takes work and the threads they painstakingly braided together as their life are coming undone and disintegrating with each passing moment of silence; with each thought that goes unsaid.

The thing is this time they hit the wall together. This time it runs deeper and convulses harder than they thought was possible. They tell you that you have to lose everything you hold near and dear to truly grasp what having anything feels like. That you must reach your darkest moment to know how to properly appreciate that dim light just around the bend. What no one tells you; what no one will ever tell Mark and Callie is that not everyone makes it through the journey successfully, let alone as one unit. Because those who have reached that moment and lived in the all consuming desolation know that it is better to let them hold out for naïve hope than it is to notify them of the reality. They must struggle to understand what easy is and they must fight to know what triumph feels like and there is no way to do that when you recognize that never reaching the end of a sorrow filled road is a very real possibility.

So is it worse for Mark to lose his son and Callie her baby boy or for Mark to watch Callie turn into a hollow shell and for Callie to stare back as Mark slowly disappears into a jogging fool? What happens when you are glued to both evils? What if you are predetermined to play a role in all of it and there is no escaping the world that has both brought you to your knees and stolen your heart?

**_--_**

"Move away from the patient Dr. Torres!" Miranda shouts looking over at a frozen Callie. She knew it was too soon for the young doctor to come back but no one asked her opinion, now she is left dealing with the mess. The mess being a dead twenty something male who mysteriously coded and subsequently died while he was under Callie's knife.

Callie stares at the open chest of one Jacob T. Attlee. Erica Hahn does the same but she keeps it brief. She's been as far removed from the circus everyone is running here as she can possibly get and she isn't about to start juggling now. Callie hears the sharp snap of gloves behind her and the sudden whoosh of air from the door being opened. Her eyes don't leave the patient. She's not sure if she just killed him or if Erica did once she was inside or if he suddenly died on them both but something happened and no matter how many messages her brain sends her feet and face she cannot move and she cannot look away.

"Dr. Torres! Step away from the patient or call it!" Miranda urges. She was paged about ten minutes ago by the brooding Dr. Hahn who was too busy to deal with the state of affairs at hand. Miranda shakes her head and takes a few steps forward lightly placing a hand on the taller woman's shoulder attempting to break through the trance.

As soon as Callie feels the warm fingers pressing into her surgical gown she loses it. Drops to her knees and stupidly covers her shrieking, un-masked mouth with blood caked gloves leaving alarming trails of vibrant red all along her caramel skin and puffy uncolored lips. Shoulders quivering and feet twitching she watches as the team begins to close. Her sobs are gut wrenching and her fascination disturbingly morbid for the nurses and other personnel to view as Dr. Bailey shouts at them to all get the hell out and for someone to page Mark Sloan.

Several of them do. Repeatedly. He never shows up.

**_--_**

On day five of the "back to work" campaign by his friends Derek starting sitting in the supply closet on floor three with Callie. He never says anything, never touches her, never offers a shoulder for her to cry on. He just sits because he feels useless to his friends and because he knows what it is to want to hide away from the world. He gets it and sometimes you never know when you're going to need silent support. So he sits and reads his journal and munches away on whatever sandwich Addison made for him that morning.

Two days ago when the whole thing started she looked shocked for a split second but then found another bucket and overturned it to sit on. She pulled the Milky Way from her pocket and carefully peeled down the thin wrapper methodically. She never ate it that day and she hasn't in the one day since. She just sits and watches the chocolate try to melt in the warm air, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing ever does.

On his third day of lunch dates Callie doesn't ever enter the door. He'll find out later that it's down to a patient incident and chalk it up to her raw nerves not the fact that she could have been misguided and careless in her job. That's not a thought Derek Shepherd is willing to entertain. They may not be fine but he has hope that they will be. For this optimist it's all a matter of time, a simple waiting game.

**_--_**

"You two." Richard points at a stoic Callie and a disheveled Mark later in the week, "My office. Now."

"I have to scrub in." Callie excuses herself snapping a chart shut.

"I don't care. Put Banks on it." Richard walks away without further indication as to what has going through everyone minds all week. The pair of lost surgeons is ripping apart his hospital whether they realize it or not. Twenty minutes later his office is still empty and he has to go the route of having Patricia page them. Mark eventually finds his way down the halls and past the knowing glances of the nurses and plops himself into a chair facing the older man.

"Where's Callie?" Richard demands and Mark shrugs. "Is she in surgery?"

"Probably." Mark responds dejectedly. He hasn't had any real conversation with anyone in weeks. He's managed to wrangle himself into charts and out of any incoming traumas and pushed back every surgery he had scheduled. His hands shake constantly and he doesn't trust himself with a scalpel no matter how minor the procedure.

Richard stares back at Mark's wrinkled blue scrubs and sighs loudly. "Look I know this is hard but I won't have it come at the expense of my surgical team. I can't…so pull it together."

Mark doesn't bother mentioning that he knows they are really talking about Callie. At least he thinks they are talking about Callie. He simply nods and goes to stand when the chief breaks his thought train. "And operate on something would you?"

"I don't think-"

"I don't pay you to sit around looking pretty with a pen in your hand. You're a surgeon, cut something or start cleaning bed pans with the nurses. I don't have room on my staff for a paper pusher."

"Yes sir." Mark nods, knowing full well that he still won't slice anyone open for a few days. He needs to get back into the swing of things and not want to jog in his down time before he's willing to help people look pretty when he feels like crap.

"And find Dr. Torres and send her in here." Richard snarls.

Mark doesn't reply just drifts out the door with his hands jammed in the white lab coat and his head to the ground so he can't see anyone's eyes staring back at him. He's so sick of people looking like they want to pet him and he swears if one more patient or nurse or lab tech tries to tell him that they are sorry he is going to jam said pen in their throats and walk away. Mark is done and he can't figure out why everyone else isn't. He doesn't comprehend why they can't just leave him the hell alone and resume their already scheduled programming. Surely he isn't that mesmerizing in all of his hidden wallowing.

He bumps into Meredith unknowingly and is about to look up to apologize when she scurries away without a word. She's been scarce lately. Actually everyone "close" has been sporadically present as of late. All he desires is to jump into a pond of normal and not have to come up for reality's air until his shift is over. His eyes catch on Callie's hair at the end of the hall and he continues walking until he sees who she is talking to. It's not that her conversing with Derek is out of the ordinary, it could even be work related, but she looks so alive. Her eyes could easily fool anyone to thinking they are sparkling and her laugh is good enough to convince Derek that he should be chuckling too.

They share a moment and Mark is stuck on the outside of the scene, begging to be a part of her life, even if it is brimming with fake smiles and half hearted small talk. He won't get to be that person for weeks yet.

**_--_**

"No. No. Absolutely not." Addison shakes her head and slams a stack of files down on her desk staring back at Callie.

"I'm not asking as a friend, I am telling you as a patient that I would like to set up an appointment." Callie explains standing tall next to the window. She hasn't spoken to Addison in weeks and the childish part of her brain is still winning over everything in life so that she feels alright blaming her used to be best friend a little more everyday.

"I'm not interested in being your doctor." Addison sighs. It's not that she wouldn't do anything for Callie, it's more that she's been exiled by the staff and made to feel horrible by everyone save Alex for Darren's death and neither Callie nor Mark has swayed anyone's mind another way. She's not taking the blame for anything else that's not actually her fault. She kicks off her heels and pulls her chair closer to the desk with her toes. At four months she is absolutely starting to show off more than she can hide and it's not something she wants to rub in her friend's face.

"You're the best." Callie states through gritted teeth even though she believes much differently.

"So?"

"I want my tubes tied. I want this. I'm coming to you one of your patients here and expressing a wish."

"Call-"

"No. You don't get an opinion. What you get is a surgery so give me an appointment and let's do this thing." It was not a hasty decision on Callie's part. But at the same time it wasn't exactly made through a clear and sober mind. Either way she doesn't want any more children.

"Callie-"

"Stop it Addison. Just shut up and do your job for once! Do your job and schedule the damn thing."

Addison gulps preparing to deal with the fury she has heard is reigning the halls. "No. I'm sorry. I'm not interested."

"You are always interested." Callie states quietly, "Even when you shouldn't be."

Addison folds her hands neatly together on top of a stack of paperwork she has avoided all week long in great favor of getting down with her bad second trimester self. "I know that you don't think you will ever want another child but that's what you are feeling right now. Who knows, maybe in three years or ten years then you will have a different outlook. I would hate to help you deprive yourself of something you once wanted so badly."

"Well regrettably that's already been crossed off your fucking to-do list." Callie replies bitterly and spins around. "You owe me. You owe me Addison! You know you owe me so take out your pen and your appointment book and make room because this is happening whether you like it or not." She taps the desk with her pointer finger and then crosses her arms defiantly.

"Get out…please."

"What!"

"Just get out of my office and don't come back until you are having rational thoughts. Then we can discuss this more if you want."

"Oh you're one to talk about rational thoughts. Where was your head when-"

"Stop." Addison cuts in and stands to open her door in an effort to usher Callie out. She forgets momentarily all the reasons why she has been hiding behind a large chunk of wood until her friend's jaw drops.

Callie's throat gurgles in mock appreciation of Addison's figure. She, herself, has dropped about fifteen pounds with the running and the not eating and she can actually feel the muscles in her body tighten when her eyes run over her friend. "Nice."

"I was going to tell you." Addison bites her bottom lip sharply and holds her breath.

"I'm sure you were."

"It's…there has never been a good time is all." Addison shrugs nervously, subconsciously brushing a few fingers over her growing abdomen.

"What, you think I will hate you because you are having a baby and I just lost mine? You really think that I am that self-involved that I wouldn't be able to separate the two?"

"I don't know. Things have been difficult and-"

"No, Addison things have not been difficult. Things have been hell, okay? Flaming, hot, Dante's ninth circle kind of hell. But don't you for one second think that I care enough about what you have going on to get angry about it. You aren't worth the energy it would take." Callie slams her foot into the ground, pivots and exits the room with her head held high as Addison's tears finally claim her shocked face.

Ten minutes later the barefoot, pregnant redhead finally manages to un-cement her pink toenails from the beige rug and shuffle over to her desk chair. She buries her head in her arms and sobs quietly until Miranda Bailey breaks her concentration by storming in and slamming the door.

"Someone needs to talk to Torres. Better yet someone needs to talk to Torres and Sloan, preferably together. My residents can't do their job which means I can't do my job…" she trails off looking over at Addison pathetically slumped in her leather chair, mascara working its way down over her pink cheeks. "I told you to wear waterproof mascara when you are carrying a small child. Girl, they make you cry all the time."

"Miran-da." Addison croaks.

"Torres or Sloan?" She asks knowingly. Every problem can be deduced to one of the two for the last fourteen days and she's had enough. She's tired of nurses complaining when Mark steals their work loads and she's exhausted from trying to mend the bridges Callie is burning left and right.

"She hates me." Addison sniffles and then wipes her nose with a tissue from the floral printed box in the second drawer.

"She doesn't hate you."

"I think she does…she really, really does."

"I'll talk to her." Miranda decides. Someone has too. The grieving mother has been taking her anger out on innocent interns, scrub nurses and now her close friends. There's a line and it's high time someone recognized that she is way overstepping it day in and day out.

"No!" Addison brushes her eyes clear, "No. Just leave her alone. It's okay. Everything will be okay."

"I'm not going to rat you out you big baby." Miranda chides and then pats Addison's shoulder on the way out. "Sometimes you need a little reminder every now and again that people are not meant to be punching bags. I'd do it for you too."

"Right." Addison straightens herself, trying to let the emotion run off her shoulders like she used to but it's different now. Now she has haunting dreams about her child dying under her own care and now she has no one except Derek to talk to about anything and he is point blank tired of discussing SIDS, he's said so on several occasions. She misses Callie but Callie clearly does not miss her and she's not sure which hurts worse at the moment.

"Commence crying." Bailey whispers softly as she shuts the door on her way out.

Addison does just that for the next thirty minutes until her lunch is over.

**_--_**

Nurse Olivia let it slip earlier that sometimes she finds Mark on the stairs in between floors three and four when she is running through around noon. She said, during Derek's patient prepping earlier, that he always has a bottle of water in his lap and his nose in a book. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he is searching for so today Derek forgoes closet time with Callie for stair time with Mark. He pulls on the heavy metal door and slowly begins his descent to the right spot. He spots him within one minute, hand curled around a Snickers, water bottle carelessly in his lap and a stack of cases and books on the stair below him.

"Hey man." Derek announces from above. Mark slams the book shut and places his sneaker clad feet on top of the pile.

"Hi."

Derek picks up the pace and slouches into place next to him. "You know, I heard the nurses talking about you hiding away like a little bookworm before and I have to say the image is not becoming. This is not you. Me maybe…but not you." Mark shrugs and Derek quickly reaches out and grabs at the pile. "Avery's Diseases of the Newborn? Where did you even find that piece of junk?" Nothing. "Mark, you can't keep doing this-"

"I can do whatever I want." He snaps and snatches the book back, careful not to lose his bookmark on chapter three. It was moderately important if he remembers correctly.

"This is not healthy." Derek taps the candy bar to make his point.

"Like I care." Mark scowls and leans into the cold metal railing.

"The sooner you can accept-"

"I can't accept anything without an answer."

"They told you-"

"That is not an answer. That is a cop out and not what happened to my son. Something was wrong. I know something was wrong and I am going to figure it out."

Derek pauses for a moment. As a doctor he knows that sometimes the most frustrating thing is not knowing and not being able to do anything differently or being able to blame anyone for something but as a friend he can't understand why Mark is so insistent on punishing himself by living this everyday. "Then what?" Derek challenges.

"What?"

"Let's say something was wrong, let's say someone fucked up or that he was terminally ill and no one ever caught it. Then what Mark?" Derek shifts his weight and his shoes squeak loudly breaking Mark out of whatever reverie he was visiting.

"I don't know."

"What do you gain from this?"

Mark shrugs and shakes his head.

"Exactly. Nothing you do, nothing you find in some old stupid book is going to bring him back. So what is the point of torturing yourself?"

"I have to."

"No you don't. You have a choice to stop everyday but you would rather live in the pain than try to heal like Callie."

Mark nearly chokes on his chocolate and peanuts, "Callie is not healing."

"Well she's doing a better job of hiding her futile search for knowledge at work than you are. Pull it together. This isn't you." Derek claps Mark's back and hears a faint, hushed sentence trail after him as he makes a getaway. "What?"

"You think Callie is okay?" Mark asks honestly. He's too close to the situation to be sure anymore. Maybe the running and throwing herself back into surgery really isn't a distraction technique. Maybe she's getting better and leaving him behind. He's not sure which is worse.

"She sits in the supply closet on three during her lunch while you play on the stairs. Why don't you go ask her yourself before you lose her for good?"

What Derek doesn't know is that Mark lost Callie the morning their baby died and he's just now coming to terms with it.

**_--_**

"Sit." Miranda instructs pushing Callie into the empty conference room, her blood boiling.

"I have a surgery." Callie reminds her, even though she really doesn't. All she's got waiting is a lonely lunch with Shepherd who is starting to creep her out with his presence.

"I don't care." Miranda sasses. "Sit down."

"You aren't my boss."

"I need to be your boss to chew your ass?" She watches as Callie slinks to a chair and sulks into it like a fourteen year old. "Didn't think so. Now, look at me."

"What?" Callie tests. No one has stepped out of line with her, no one has said a cross word back to her rage filled lectures, no one has dared misstep in her company and she is tired of it. She's over it. So fucking over it. The monotony must end.

"No, you don't talk now. It's my turn." Miranda puts her hands on her hips and then removes them to place her palms flat against the table in front of her. "You have been running around this hospital like you are God's gift to us all and that stops now. You are scaring interns, threatening nurses who are doing their jobs correctly and making people cry with each roll of your tongue."

"Oh please-"

"Shut up Dr. Torres, I am warning you just this once." Miranda pauses to see if she will dare speak again but only silence fills the room. "You wanna get verbally abusive with someone, do it to yourself because you are the only one I can see around here who deserves it." Callie's head begins to sag; her shoulders begin to slouch from their pompous position. "Your son is dead. I am very sorry that you had to go through that. I can not imagine what you are feeling and neither can anyone else in this hospital but just because you are hurting it doesn't mean you get to take it out on everyone else. You aren't a twelve year old so stop acting like it."

Callie's eyes light up with a smart retort but she bites her cheeks hard to keep her mouth shut. "Fine."

"And keep the attitude to yourself. This is a place of business. People are sick here and they don't need your problems on top of their own. Check it at the door or the next time or I'm taking it to the chief." Miranda swaggers from the room, hoping to have helped with her tough love but secretly knowing that if it was her baby who was missing she would have set the place on fire by now and laughed manically as it burned to the ground.

**_--_**

Callie saunters from the table a few minutes later after scrubbing her face with her clammy hands and running a few fingers through her wild curls. She hasn't bothered with make up since the funeral and she isn't even sure the last time she saw a brush, much unlike Mark who is still painfully punctual with his grooming. She kicks at a discarded piece of paper angrily. She doesn't hate anyone but herself and yet Mark, with his ability to still look and act perfect (nobody is lecturing him in conference rooms like an eight year old), is coming in a close second these days. She resents the way he can hold conversations and think in coherent sentences that aren't laced with distrust and apparent revulsion. She envies his smooth movements through their apartment at night like there was never a baby screaming down the hall for him to remember. Her memories are still too green to completely discard.

The paper kicking routine holds steady until she finds her little hole of pity and self loathing. She squeezes her eyes tight in absolute refusal to ever cry again at work and twists the shiny metal to find Mark on her bucket with his head in his hands. She turns around hastily to make an escape but he wraps his strong arms around her knees and pulls her back, burying his perfectly manicured hair into her stomach.

Frozen and confused, she stands, his head pressed into her scrubs, his hands locked tightly around the back of her legs. It takes her three minutes to snap out of his clinging. "What…are you doing?"

He finds her eyes, dark and churning with something and slowly glides up her body without losing contact. Her expression is lost, his concerned as his fingers find her neck and his lips press into hers lightly. They barely touch, there's no frenzy, no awkward nose bumping and teeth clipping of changing positions frantically. Just two mouths, warm and hesitant in a place they haven't experienced in weeks. Mark's eyelids slip closed as the door they are standing in front of is opened and whacks Callie square on her right shoulder and subsequently into reality.

Nurse Tyler steps back apologizing for busting in on their make out session as Callie's mouth hangs open. They stumble into the hallway and she pushes Mark's chest hard when he attempts to lead her away from the growing crowd with an arm looped around her waist.

"Twenty says Callie beats the shit out of him right here, right now." Alex decides reaching into his pocket for his wallet as people gather round.

"Fifty says she walks away with a black eye somehow." George jokes playfully.

"That's not even funny." Cristina shakes her head and pulls out a few crisp bills to smack on the nurses station when Callie slaps Mark across the cheek and he returns the motion with one of his own across the side of her face. "Ouch. That's gonna leave an imprint. Twenty says Bailey ruins all our fun." Cristina asserts.

"Callie stop it." Mark growls from the back of his throat as he watches her rub the stinging red splotch his hand left on her.

"You hit me." She sneers.

"I didn't mean it. I was caught up in the moment." Mark defends as he hears Izzie laughing about something in the distance.

"Do it again." She demands possessed by something Mark has never seen before in a human being.

"What?"

"Hit me again. Do it." She readies herself for another blow. It felt good to hurt on the outside.

"I'm not going to hit you again." He begins but she knees him in the stomach before he can finish hoping to incite some sort of riot within him. "Shit Cal, knock it…off." He orders, doubled over and clutching his calves.

"Did I just see what I think I saw?" Meredith asks joining the rest of the group.

"She is going to kill him." Alex declares.

"I'll take that action." Izzie places more onto the small pile of green, "Ten says Callie isn't walking away without stitches. Did you see the way he laid into her?"

"I don't think we should bet over this. What happened?" Meredith begins and then shrugs it off. It's best thing that's happened since this morning when Callie made Nurse Debbie cry about something. Now that was a good time.

"Get up, come on you big pussy." Callie coerces.

"Not if you are going to hit me again. I'm perfectly fine here." He drops to the floor and takes in short little breaths looking like a full on pansy and not caring for a second.

"What is going on here?" Richard demands breaking through the lines of staff to the center "ring". Miranda follows shortly behind him.

"Nothing." Callie shrugs and stands behind Mark who doesn't even attempt to get himself off the floor.

"Dr. Karev. What happened?"

"I don't know." Alex hastily disappears with Cristina hot on his trail, her fists full of the waded cash. She was without a doubt the winner today.

"No one wants to tell me why there was gambling in my hospital?" Richard nudges Mark with his foot irately. "Get out."

"What?" Mark questions looking up for the first time.

"Get out of this hospital right now before I decide to take legal action."

"Richard…" Addison attempts stepping forward from the place she found shortly after he came onto the scene.  
"Addie, don't." Derek grabs her arm and brings her back. There is no way they are getting involved in this disaster.

The congregation watches as Callie stomps away and Mark drags himself from the glowing tile, still clutching his stomach. He runs through the pain anyway, not even bothering to have taken a car this morning and finds himself arriving home to a very drunk and sated Callie hours later. He bypasses her statue-esc figure on the couch, where it is always placed, and slams the bedroom door.

The hot water from the showerhead above him beats over his tense shoulders and rock hard legs. There is not a thought large enough or a guess wide enough to encompass what happened earlier. He's not sure if he has a job or even a girlfriend anymore but here he is anyway. Forever bound to her by a tragedy, the likes of which no one else can understand and even though she finds perverse pleasure in physical harm and refuses to talk to him, he keeps on coming back for more. He can't help but think of Derek's words when he lathers the lightly scented shampoo through his hair. What the hell is he doing to himself and why is he even still here? Old Mark would not have stood for this but at the same time old Mark never could have fathomed Callie's recent reactions. She is officially terrifying and after today's debacle he's not entirely sure he could actually stop her in a fist fight.

He rinses his hair, washes his tired skin, trying to scrub off their indiscretions and only remember the wonderful flying moment of their kiss but he's more bruised and cut on the inside than his skin will ever show. You can't wash away the dirt and grime that is within. It merely gets to infect everything and take control.

When he pushes the door to the bedroom back open, she isn't there. He doesn't go out and retrieve her or help get her ready for bed as he has had to some nights recently. She's on her own, right where she wants to be, right where he fears she will never want to return from.

**_--_**

It will take Mark days to find the courage to speak to Callie and when he does, it will be over something trivial. He'll ask where the rest of the coffee filters are located in their apartment and she will simply glare in response and turn up the volume on the TV that she isn't watching. Neither one will bother calling Richard to see if they are still employed for over a week. Cristina will dash back and take the money from the betting and split it equally with Alex. On their chosen night of celebration at Joe's they will end up escorting Callie back to the empty apartment she calls her home.

When they do return to work Mark will no longer hide in stairwells and Callie will not stare at her lunch in closets. They'll laugh with their co-workers and converse with patients animatedly. Mark will make his first cut on August 23rd and he'll breathe a sigh of relief he didn't know was coming when the patient makes a full recovery two days later. The quest for information will become a deep, dark secret that Callie partakes in when she is on call at night. She'll sift through endless journals and her own private copy of Darren's medical records until her eyes blur over. Mark will hide random scratches of notes on his little yellow notepad about possible solutions in the top of his sock drawer at home.

They'll shove the pain below, the questions even deeper than before and live in the type of waking nightmare that no one talks about for months.

**_--_**

Joke time because it is necessary this time.  
-- What do you call a cow who gives no milk?

A milk dud. (Or an udder failure, of course).

* * *


	8. Disappear like the morning

A/N: Well it's been awhile since I updated this. I have excuses but they are boring and repetitive. Anyway, I hope...you don't all kill me or jump ship. I hate this chapter more than life itself. It's been rewritten, added into, had scenes yanked out and I finally just decided that it's the material that I need to cover and there's no better way. We'll call it a weird, go between, set up chapter, okay? Everybody nod to the crazy lady who keeps writing crap angst when all you want is a nice kissing couple...ok read-

**_  
--_**  
**_Disappear like the morning…_**  
**_--_**

Mark has always been the kind of guy who knows how to keep his distance. He faltered once in his thirty-eight years on this spinning world and he will blame that moment where he tasted venomous red lips for the rest of his life. It was the beginning of the end. His undoing. The instant he made the fatal blow the thread began to spin on his life spool and he's nearing the end now. Because he never did much to accumulate more string, because he was never willing before Addison to even attempt an activity that could begin the unraveling- he didn't have a lot to work with.

Mark is good at keeping distance. Professionally and personally. Keeping things light has always helped him evade sticky situations and disillusion the unwilling participants in his game. He can't even keep track of the number of women who tried to break his resolve through out the years but the truth of the ugly situation is that Callie did do it. And she did it without effort. She did it without intent.

Callie, on the other hand, has always been the woman who despite her best endeavors gets in way over her head. She has spent her life doling out little pieces of multi-colored filament to those who unknowingly break her heart and screw up her life. Because she never really had a starting line, because it's been an ongoing sport for the last thirty-three years she doesn't have a lot left to play with. She's reaching her breaking point. The tension is building in her life's appropriated fiber with every tick of the second hand.

Callie sucks at keeping her mind clear and her heart out of matters. Professionally and personally. She falls in love with people who will never love her like she should be and she gives away affection in an attempt to receive even the tiniest amount of attention in return. She muddles every situation and is left with the oddest realizations of self-loathing when her soft fingers reach for the sharp bladed scissors to surrender yet another cord to the lucky contestant of the day. The problem is Mark has never stolen a piece from her. He inadvertently built her back up. And he did it without a clue. He did it without an ulterior motive.

Their reels uncoil at different rates, peaking at different moments, slowly at different intervals. But they are reaching an end. It is just an end neither will ever consider until it is too late. Until the decision has already been made for them.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

"Why did you say yes to this?" Callie asks, pulling a brush through her mangled curls for the first time all week. Generally, between surgeries and charts and odd hours spent staring at nothing and thinking about everything, she just can't be bothered.

"Because he asked and they're our friends." Mark recites for the hundredth time that evening. The answer never changes but he never fails to offer it up either. It's just another part of their routine. The schedule that includes vigorous morning runs, skipping breakfast, plastering smiles on at work and focusing so hard on staying in the moment during surgeries that sometimes his previously amazing hands shake periodically. No one ever said it was a fun program.

"I don't want to go." Callie drifts back into the room, nearing twenty-seven pounds lighter, not that anyone is counting and scrounges up a red flowing skirt that hides the fact that her best assets are sailing out to sea with her mind. She undresses and redresses mindlessly, unaware of the fact that Mark is staring at her bare back and trying not to lick his lips. The man is in pain not blind.

"It's just for a few hours." He replies and stuffs a hand in his jean's pocket so she isn't surprised by anything when she spins back around to glare at him. They are, without a doubt, not in a place where sex is permissible let alone him touching her in any sort of loving way. If he lingers too long over one place or tries to tuck her hair back behind an ear she shoves his hand away and busies herself with anything other than his demanding presence. That's how they operate still. Some things haven't changed at all since that fateful day…and some things are new day in and day out.

There's a brief flash a few minutes later with him resorting to sitting on the bed and crossing his legs in fear of being inappropriate and her staring back at him questioningly. She opens her mouth to speak but clamps it shut again. When her teeth click, he sees the light in her eyes dim down and the stifling melancholy attitude of their apartment slowly descends to suffocate them again. The summer heat wafts in off the pavement during the day and cools when the rain splatters against it at night. The thunderstorms press humidity into the city and cool fronts bring in refreshing breaths of crisp air but nothing ever changes in their home. It's become a tomb. A mere holder of something that was once so wonderful it couldn't be contained.

"Do you have a-" She begins and then hastily stops rifling through the top drawer on his side of the dresser. With a trembling hand she produces a little yellow notebook nearly full of Mark's chicken scratch on the various things that could have killed his son one hundred and six days ago…not that he's counting…or coming any closer to finding a solution. "What is this?" She whispers.

There is no good answer here for Mark. He could explain patiently and at length the things he's found; the ideas he has had as a doctor but when her eyes cloud over and she slams the paper down on the tops of the dresser he knows that's definitely not the solution. Her tirade consists of ripping the pages from his carefully decided home and shredding them with her warm fingers. He watches in wretched horror as his weeks of work deteriorate in front of his eyes and then she hastily slams the wobbly wood back into place and leaves the room swiftly. Tornado over. Quick but disastrous all the same.

Mark sinks to his knees, scurrying to save all the tiny thoughts, the little shreds of yellow with blue lines that keep his mind occupied, trying his best to repair what Callie keeps insists on breaking. His heart. She's rapidly becoming the secondary source of his pain and he has no way of telling her to ease up because he doesn't have a leg to stand on in any argument and frankly, she terrifies him now- not in a good way. So instead he follows her out to the living room where she is insistently tugging on a heel that he considers too high for his liking. He likes when she reaches his shoulders, she's a good height and she doesn't need stilts. Oh well.

"Well come on, we're going to be late for game night at the Shepherds." She slews as sarcastically as possible and then pointedly stares at his shoes by the door.

"We should talk about-"

"I don't want to hear whatever it is you have to say Mark." Her voice trails off as he sighs and then the quietness becomes all-consuming again. "We're late."

"You don't even want to go!" He lashes out, and tumbles over into a chair after trying to stand upright and put his white and navy tennis shoes on. He lacks the energy required and he whacks his elbow on the wood arm of the chair on his way down, letting a few expletives out on the sly.

"Well what I want doesn't really fucking appear to matter these days, now does it? You just do as you please and I get stuck going along with it." Her hands find her hips suddenly and she ignites with all of the month's displaced anger.

"What is it that you want Callie? Because it sure as hell doesn't seem to have anything to do with me." When she looks too stunned or confused to answer he takes it as a cue to shut the fuck up and get out the door before things escalate. He slams the hinged wood in her face and then juxtaposes the action by waiting sulkily by the elevator for nearly fifteen minutes before she joins him.

**_--_**

"I can't believe you did this." Addison grumbles at Derek and snatches a group of different sized forks from his hand to set the table with.

"I thought you guys were friends!" He argues, "And they need to start getting out. It's been long-"

"Don't start that again." She cuts him off and tediously places the flatware as her nerves begin to wage a war with her rational side. She smoothes down invisible wrinkles on the pristine white tablecloth and nudges their rarely used china half inches to the left and right convinced that everything is wrong.

"It's fine." He urges slipping a hand around her waist and pulling her back before she ends up knocking a glass over and shattering her own dreams of a perfect evening. "Addison-"

"I just want this to go well."

"I know that." Caressing her growing stomach he decides to jump in head first, "Why are you so jumpy around her anyway? She's been perfectly nice ever since that little show down with Mark in the hallway." In fact, it's been surprising how easy she is to get along with at work. It's Mark that he is honestly worried about. Mark who wanders around the halls and keeps his eyes on the ground instead of on nurse's asses. He's just not the same. Callie, conversely, jokes around with Miranda and smiles politely at the interns that help her everyday.

"I wouldn't know. She doesn't speak to me."

"Hmm…well maybe she will tonight."

"I'm having flashbacks where my mother would bribe the neighbor children into coming over in return for money or favors." Her hands jut out to move the knife of the third place setting, where she has determined Callie will be sitting but he slaps her fingers down beginning to snicker about how she was the socially awkward child who had to have friends that were bought. Her now crazy and hormonal tears threatening to spill over stop him just before the doorbell on their new house sounds. It chimes heavily through the hallway and the sound lightly carries into the open dining room making Addison physically startle under the bright chandelier lighting.

"I'll be right back." She states excusing herself from the table.

"Addie I didn't mean it-"

"It's fine. Go let our guests in and I'll be out in a minute."

Twenty minutes later and one their second glasses of comfort inducing wine Addison finally finds the gull to reappear. She tucks herself in next to Derek, across from the other couple, and smiles warmly. "Hi."

"Hey." Mark replies half-heartedly but Callie merely nods over the rim of her red liquid thankful that she chose to raise the glass when she did.

"So…anyone got any interesting work stories?" Derek asks after seventy-nine seconds of horribly odd staring. Callie shakes her head, Mark shrugs and replies about nothing out of the ordinary and Addison scampers out of the room to check on her freshly bought dessert just in case by some magic it decided to light itself on fire in the refrigerator and burn down the place. "Excuse me." He stands, drapes the red cloth napkin across his empty white plate and races toward the kitchen. When he arrives, he finds Addison cooling herself by standing in front of the open freezer and he joins her, sticking his head in and whispering, "What are you doing?"

"Hiding."

"Not such a good place." He quips instantly.

"Shut up." She warns pulling back and slamming the door shut almost catching the side of her husband's face.

"Can you come back out and play nice so we can eat? Because I'm a little hungry and I'd be willing to bet, the way you have been eating us out of house and home lately, that you are too." He smirks and she glares and he gives up trying to play around in about a half a second. "Look Addie, I know it's not easy but they need their friends. People need friends through this sort of stuff and I guarantee that if the tables were turned and this was us- Mark and Callie would be right by our sides the entire time. It's an ugly job but some-"

"But she hates me. She doesn't want me on her side Derek. She wants Miranda or stupid nurse Olivia or I don't know…maybe you but not me. Just not me." Addison sighs and grabs the wilting green leaves off the counter to signal the end of the conversation. "I just wish...I almost wish that I would have stayed in California instead of coming back here." She adds in wistfully and leaves him slack jawed and traumatized from the admission to return to no man's land.

**_--_**

"You think they knew that we could hear them every time they disappeared into the kitchen?" Mark asks as they drive carelessly down the freeway. They took turns leaving the room all night. Little trips for more wine or a fork or a gravy boat that wasn't necessary and he just knows who they were talking about. His life long friends have never been very subtle.

Angrily, he weaves through the rain droplets and light traffic not because they are in a hurry to get home but because cars have become this horrible enclosed space where they can't escape each other and all it ever feels like is that the air is slowly seeping out and they're going to die from oxygen deprivation. He neglects to use a blinker to signal one way or another, chooses to down shift his Mercedes in lieu of braking causing near whiplash inducing movements, honks because he can, not because anyone deserves it and in general leaves his windshield wipes on the same setting no matter how hard it is pouring.

"Dunno." Callie keeps her eyes on the floorboards and refuses to feel the way the car bounces around. She doesn't particularly mind his actions, she drives fairly similar but at least she has control then.

"It wasn't that bad. Dessert was good. I didn't know Addison could bake at all, let alone cobbler. I guess pregnancy made her all domestic…you did that for like a week-"

Callie rolls her lips together and smashes down on them with her teeth until it hurts so much that she has to open her mouth. "Can we not talk about…her?"

"What's your deal with Addison?" Mark asks honestly. He's seen the way Callie treats her like the plague and originally it was understandable. She appeared to have played a vital role in their ultimate demise but now, now she's nothing more than a lost friend in an ocean of other debris.

"Don't."

"Fine." He agrees and jerks on the steering wheel covering three lanes in two seconds and nearly missing their exit. He hates that she won't talk to him. He hates that she'd willingly strike up a conversation with anyone else. Anyone except him and apparently Addison for some undisclosed reason.

They arrive back at the apartment and she trudges down the hall without waiting for him to arrive with the keys. Her impatience prompts his attitude and by the time he finishes jiggling the silver in the lock he has lost all self-control. He watches as she slips off her shoes and tucks herself into the corner of the couch with a bottle of water and the remote. The TV flickers to life, bright colors slicing through the dark room and bouncing off the white painted walls. He follows her eyes. They don't go to the TV. They go to a spot where four perfectly level nail holes are located. The place where Darren's most recent pictures used to hang. Every month Callie would take him to one of her ex-patients for a session and they would shuffle all the frames down along the wall so that the newer ones were more prominent. It was her thing but he misses the photographs.

He misses his life…wherever it went off to.

What Mark's found is that pretending it never happened doesn't work at all. People know and they look at him like they know. Like he's shared his deepest, darkest secret with them and their waiting to let it explode from their mouths. They stare at him judgmentally though maybe not intentionally. He can't really tell anymore. It's all such a blur and he can hardly believe it's been over three months since that day. He thought with time came healing but everyday here, in this Seattle born mud puddle, has been just as bad if not worse than the moment they realized their son was never coming home again.

He huffs something under his breath, lets his shoes join hers and puts himself at the opposite end of the couch before turning off the TV. He's going to take the step. He's going to leap just to see what happens. It can't get any worse.

"Callie?" He asks softly. No reply. "Can you at least look at me?" She doesn't move and he gruffly brushes a hand over his face to clear his thoughts. It's going to be the hard way. "Do you still blame Addison for…what happened…?"

Her eyes remain glues to the damaged walls but he swears he can hear her heart rate increase.

"She didn't do anything. I don't know why you won't talk to her. She was your friend Callie. Just because….it doesn't mean you can't talk to her. I talk to Derek." Well, he kind of talks to Derek. About the Yankees and the Giants and about various patients.

"Good for you. Want a medal?" She bites ferociously.

"Why is everything out of your mouth so fucking ugly all the time? I can't stand this-"

"Then go away." She motions to the hallway.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." Is her reply and it takes no time to sort out the answer. It's easier for her to think without him around, it's easier for her to process without dealing with him too because a large part of Callie feels guilty.

Under all that anger is guilt and the only blame she has is for herself.

"I don't know what to do with you!" He exclaims rising from the letter cushions. She doesn't know what to do with herself either so she lets it slide.

He leaves the next morning thirty minutes before she wakes up for his run and makes a point of taking a different route. He ditches the idea of going home and facing her icy eyes in favor of showering at the hospital.

Mark needs a new plan and so far it doesn't look like it needs to include Callie.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

Mark spends a lot of time watching Callie. Expertly trying to decipher if her actions are heartfelt or forced with patients, co-workers and random families. She smiles a lot but it looks fake and her tone always raises an octave when she's uncomfortable. She does not, however, look uncomfortable with Derek right now at all. Sitting across the cafeteria, with charts spread out in between them, they laugh occasionally and chew on their respective sandwiches. They look happy and he's jealous because Derek doesn't make him happy and he doesn't make Callie happy like that. He feels a shift in the table and looks up to see Addison. "Hey."

"Hi." She beams removing the plastic lid of her salad and setting to the business of getting rid of all the things she can't stomach anymore like onions and tomatoes. "They're discussing Mr. Robinson. He fell down a flight of stairs at his nursing home this morning. Derek wants to wait to operate but Callie needs to get in there to repair…Mark?" She stops, noticing he isn't paying attention at all.

"Hmm?"

"You weren't…never mind." She shakes her head and grabs her fork. "So how are things?"

"Fine."

"Karev said you kicked ass at darts last night at Joe's." She mentions munching softly, trying not to note how his gaze never leaves Callie.

"Yeah."

"You had fun?"

"It was fine."

"Did Callie go?" She asks sipping at her water. All of her information about Callie has been secondhand from Miranda or Izzie so far. She isn't brave enough to stop treading water and dive in.

"She was on call."

"Oh…well what are you and Callie doing for Thanksgiving because I can't fly like this and Derek wants to invite Mom and everyone in from Connecticut so they can see our new place."

"I don't know." He replies. He heard something about Thanksgiving, then the alarm bells rang out with mention of Derek's family and now he's just drawing blanks.

"You guys should come. It will be hectic of course with all the kids but it would be fun to have you and Nancy keeps telling me how much she wants to meet the woman who tied Mark Sloan down for good."

"Yeah."

"Mark, you okay?"

"I'm fine." Everything is fine. Always fine or some variation of fine but that's it. Nothing is ever good anymore. He wonders when that goes away.

"If you want to talk-"

"I don't." His head finally turns and he meets her blue eyes hoping to impress upon her the urgency of the statement. "She hates you."

"I know." Addison nods.

"I don't know why."

"I do." The reality of the situation is that there are probably a great many people in the world that hate Addison based solely on her job alone. She's lost many patients and people don't take that well. She's a villain but she never minded the role until now. Now she's just stuck wondering if the phase will ever pass.

"I'm sorry." His mouth creases into a straight line and he sets his jaw.

"Me too. I miss my best friend."

"I miss my so-" He bites his tongue and stops. This is inappropriate even if he is hurting. There will be no public displays of his sorrow. He vowed to end that. He abruptly grabs his tray and stalks out of the cafeteria to finish his lunch somewhere that people won't bother talking to him, let alone getting him to open up.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

"I've been informed that neither one of you has been bothered enough to attend the mandated therapy I called for?" Richard scowls at the pair of surgeons in front of him. Here he was, weeks out of their last meltdown, thinking that they were actually caring enough to improve. "Well have you?"

"No." Mark grunts and Callie just stares out incredulously at the picture of the black and purple North American bird.

"It wasn't a choice. I'm pulling you both from the floor until you make an appointment with Dr. Wyatt."

"Chief I've got a-" Mark starts in and then sighs giving up. He couldn't care less about cutting anyway. It all makes no difference to him.

Callie, unfortunately, uses surgery like the blood that is coursing through her veins. She needs the high to stay stable. Left to her own devices she's unsure of what would happen and honestly she's scared of who she is becoming. "I can't." She argues, "She can't see both of us-"

"Dr. Wyatt is a very accomplished psychiatrist and I'm certain that she is up for the task." God knows hospitals have some of the most fucked up people and this woman has seen it all in Richard's opinion…including himself.

"How can we both see her? Isn't that some sort of conflict of interest and besides if I am being required to attend therapy then I'd like to choose my own doctor and I'd like the time to research it properly before I rush into anything." Mark watches Callie ramble, impressed by her skills and moderately annoyed that she is buying time. Maybe she doesn't want to heal or worse maybe she's already there and that's their whole problem. No, she can't be better off than he is.

"Well if she gets to pick then I do too." He jumps in.

"No and no!" Richard yells stopping the madness. "I told you both explicitly that you were to attend weekly sessions with Dr. Wyatt. I said this months ago, if you wanted someone else then you should have gone out and found them then…as of now you will both see her before you pick up another scalpel…then you can go find whatever you want. Are we understood?"

"Sure." Callie gripes and exits the room before another word can be said.

"Mark…" Richard shakes his head, "What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing sir. We're fine." He bids his goodbyes, apologizes for his behavior and stumbles into the elevator jabbing at the button that beckons him to get this over with because if he isn't here to operate then he may as well go run off the steam. He somehow makes it to the appropriate office and is shoved inside and seated on a well-used couch before he even has time to think.

"My last appointment was paged." The older woman explains to him, "So why are you here?"

"Because I have to be here." Mark replies gruffly and then tightens his fists. He's been in therapy long enough before to understand that that answer isn't going to get him anywhere but saddled with more sessions. He closes his eyes, sees Darren's pudgy cheeks flash and then opens them again to start over. "My son…"

"What about your son…" She looks down at the file, "Mark?"

"He…he's…well, he died and now I'm here….with you."

Dr. Wyatt reads a few more sentences on the top page of the memo Richard sent her last week with this very file. "SIDS."

"Yeah." He combs his fingers through his hair nervously.

"How have you been?"

His eyes water involuntarily. He doesn't have to give the standard answer here, in fact she'd probably shut him down; he's heard she's kind of a hard ass about this. "Bad." He nods, "Very…bad."

"It's okay to be sad. You lost a child."

"I know."

She presses her lips together in thought, in search of a direction. "Is there anything specific you want to discuss?" She watches him shake his head slowly, "Why don't you tell me a little bit about him then."

Mark's eyes light up over the memories as he tries to arrange a pattern in which to tell his stories. It hurts to remember but he doesn't want to ignore everything and forget either. "He was born on Valentine's Day and he has jet black hair. Had black hair." He reminds himself to use proper tenses and pushes on, "Callie used to sing to him when he couldn't sleep…I tried a couple of times but it never worked-"

"Who is Callie?" She asks knowing full well who the woman is.

"My…Darren's mother."

"Are you still together?"

"Yes." Physically they live together and drive each other insane. Mentally, emotionally there may as well be a freaking ocean separating them.

Dr. Wyatt makes a few chicken scratches. "I'm sorry for interrupting. Please continue."

He shares until he is tearing streaked and soaking the knees of his blue scrubs with salty coolness. He dries his eyes, sees that the clock has now registered three hours later and stands feeling completely and utterly drained and yet not any more clear on the situation. He's not even sure what they talked about at this point but he sets up another appointment for Friday and drags his body to the locker room to change.

It's time to run.

**_--_**

"What are you doing?" Callie asks frantically as Mark gathers his clothes and throws them into suitcases two weeks later. "Where are you going?"

"I'm checking in at the Archfield. I think it would be good for us to spend time apart." He jams another pair of jeans into the black luggage and struggles to zip it closed.

"Why?" She squeaks, voice raging with all of the emotion he hasn't seen in months. It's too little, too late.

"Because…" He lets go of his old Yankees t-shirt, leaving it on the bed for her and turns around. "You are so angry."

"I'm not angry." She denies, shaking her head, her eyes wide with fear.

"Yes, you are. You are so angry at me…at Addison…at Richard…at everyone. I don't…I don't think I can help you anymore Callie. I don't know how. I'm sorry." He watches as she begins to cry and it takes every ounce of willpower he's spent building up not to take her in his arms. This is his choice. He's tired of existing in a monotonous hell where nothing ever changes and nothing ever feels good. He can't take it anymore. It's killing him. She's killing him slowly but surely.

"No…no. Don't. I'm not angry. I'm not. Look I'm smiling. I'm happy." She bears her teeth the grin turns into a sob and then he's dragging his luggage out to the front door.

When he reaches the place of no return, he kisses the top of her head and lets his hands fall to her shoulders, squeezing gently as she fights to breathe through all of the moisture draining down her throat. "You need help Cal. I can't. I'll call you when I check in and give you my room number if you want to talk, okay?"

She nods, "Please…please Mark."

He kisses her cheek and almost gives in. When he steps back he gives her all he's got. "I love you. I've always loved you. We're gonna get through this."

She watches as the door opens and tries to swallow her last lifeline. "You can't leave me here!" She screams as he lightly pulls the door closed. She follows him into the hallway where he waits on the slowest moving elevator in the world. "Don't leave me! Don't leave me here alone!"

She staggers into the apartment and slams the door as hard as she can. Her knees bounce hard when she hits the hard wood of the entryway. It's finally over. She's finally succeeded in pushing away everyone and everything- it just doesn't feel the way she wanted it to. It hurts more than it was supposed to and cuts deeper than she's ever known. She wasn't even sure she could feel anymore, but right now, as her voice echoes down the hallway and her eyes burn red she comes to life with agony.

Callie cries for her loss. She cries for her son, for Mark, for her life because it officially ended thirty minutes ago when those metal doors slid to a close.

**_--_**

He calls just like he said he would and tells her which room he's in but she doesn't have strength to do anything but rock back and forth hugging her knees all night. The next day she calls in sick and ignores the phone. She stomps into the nursery with an open can of black paint and sets about changing everything. She rips the boxes of tiny socks and hats her son outgrew and throws them in the dumpster downstairs. She smashes the rocking chair in the corner (the last remnant of furniture in the room) with a hammer until it's merely scraps of varnished wood and if she had somewhere to do what she wanted then everything would be on fire right now but instead she gut the apartment, filling the dumpster, and leaving bags on the side.

When she's finished and there's nothing resembling her boyfriend or son left, she admires her handy-work. It's almost completely empty. The couch, bed, dressers and TV are still in place because she's too weak to lift them but she can hire someone to do that. Strapping on her running shoes and securing the rubber band in her dirty hair, she takes one last look. Hopefully the new owner(s) will have better luck than she did. She whispers a goodbye, strategically locking her key inside so she can't get back in even if she wants to.

Then she runs. Tracing familiar paths around the city, dipping into luscious green parks, clipping around raging creeks she jogs. There's no stopping when the rain sets in an hour later, no stopping when she can feel the blisters burning into her skin, no stopping when her lungs feel like exploding. She runs with everything she has in her.

She runs everywhere and never gets anywhere. Some things never change.

**_--_**

Callie will spend days running in circles trying to convince herself she doesn't need Mark. She'll log hours on Cristina's uncomfortable couch coercing her heart into believing she is better off. She'll gab with patients, try to make amends with Addison, attend her commanded therapy sessions and progress without ever actually moving forward. Her heart won't be in any of the actions and only one person will see that. It will take Callie three weeks to realize that she needs Mark back in her life. That all of her so-called healing means nothing without him by her side because he is the only one who understands the depths of it.

Mark will spend days shutting down his brain so he doesn't feel guilty for the scene he caused in their apartment. He'll enjoy the comfort of too many scotch bottles before he realizes that he needs Callie. He'll bitch about his interns and send them on runs to the small deli on the corner for his lunch; he'll play darts with Derek and see Dr. Wyatt every Monday and Thursday trying to sort through his feelings. His smile will be proud but his heart still black with the realization that for all of his work nothing is happening. It will take Mark five weeks to understand that without Callie his life is rather pointless. That all of his so-called healing means nothing without her by his side because she is the only one who understands the depths of it.

When they finally come together, they'll see that the only people they have been fooling are themselves. They are stuck now, their threads tangled and knotted to one another. They are ruined, tainted individuals together and together they must stay; stained with the past and fighting the urge to reach for the scissors just one more time.  
**_  
_**

* * *

A/N: Because it's been mostly school dragging me down lately I'm giving you all a school related joke...these are my math skills.

Teacher: If you multiplied 50 by 8 and then divided by 4, what would you get?

Student: The wrong answer.

* * *


	9. Gold star mothers

A/N: So I missed my self-imposed Sunday deadline but this is abnormally long so let's call it even? Thanks to everyone for their continued support with this story, it's much easier to keep slicing through the angst when I know people are interested. Enjoy-

**_  
--_**  
**_Gold Star Mothers_**  
**_--_**

A large part of the problem is that everyone will always play the "what if" game and they will give up on it long before it ever gives up on them. For Alex, it will merely be a black mark on his personal score card; a patient that he was actually invested in that couldn't pull through. For Izzie is it of a haunting account of how not everything that appears perfect on the outside is actually functioning like a well oiled machine and that sometimes she really needs to keep her mouth shut. Cristina and Meredith will both refuse to replay what if scenarios without the help of a serious amount of alcohol and even then it will be a briefly touched on topic and only once. George will spend his nights convinced that he could have done better than Mark Sloan even though he knows that he isn't the one and will never be the one Callie wants ever again. It won't stop him from dreaming; from remembering that she was the best part about his life in the last tumultuous year- his shining light in the storm.

For Derek it's all a matter of logistics and after carefully reviewing the file he is absolutely convinced that there is nothing he or his wife could have done medically to save the infant but it won't be enough to keep his mind from wandering and considering the possibility that there may have been something he overlooked that one night of babysitting. As far as Addison is concerned, it's all about the loss. Not necessarily Darren himself but her best friend and her husband's best friend. There hasn't been a day in the last few months where she hasn't thought of the many different things she could have skipped over. She sets the walk in the park with Darren to infinite loop and tries her best to remember if there was anything else beside the sniffling that should have alerted her but as time progresses she loses more of the memory and can only focus on the baby's face which isn't getting her anywhere but soaked in warm tears. Her what ifs are growing as her recollections fade and her stomach expands.

Callie is wracked with the guilt, with the assured knowledge that she could have done something to stop this even though they all tell her that she couldn't have. She's the mother. It is her job to do the impossible, the unthinkable for her child and she failed. If only she hadn't been so exhausted with him all of the time, if only she was paying better attention then she would have noticed he was stuffy and kept a good eye on him, if only she hadn't let Mark talk her into taking the night off from their kid. They plague her day and night, the ideas, like a studded belt that refuses to stop whipping her back. Every possibility leaves her with a little red splotch; a little more damage to try and conceal as the days wear on and wear out.

It would seem as though Mark is making headway in forgetting about the stupid game that takes a hold of you by the neck and refuses to let go when you scream for mercy. It would appear that he is avidly taking the appropriate steps forward so that he is in control of the match instead of it controlling him but the truth is he has zero power. The what ifs nag at him during his lunch reminding him that he should have paid closer attention and been a more thoughtful father, they tell him at night that he never should have been allowed to have a child especially if he couldn't even bring himself to complete manual resuscitation, they poke him in the ribs and whisper about how his life could have turned out so differently if he could have just kept it in his pants for once.

They are always there. As time ticks by they become less predominant, a more blunt throbbing notion than a sharp blinding realization. They won't stop when Mark sees his favorite baseball player and wonders who his son would have been if he had gotten the chance to grow up, they won't cease when his would-have-been birthday passes and Callie tries to push the thoughts of blue frosting and sugar addicted toddlers out of her mind. The what ifs sit, waiting for the opportunity to pop out of surprise everyone with a new thought just when they think that everything is okay.

The worst part is the combined knowledge that they share; that for all of their communal "what ifs" there is nothing they can do to bring him back. There is nothing to do period and the inactivity kills.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

It's not really that the thought of killing herself is appealing; it's that she has the control in this situation. Callie presses the cool metal blade to her wrist just to see what it feels like against her skin. She doesn't want to cut; she doesn't think it will solve anything. In fact, she knows that it would cause more problems and that's the last thing she needs so she carefully stowed away the new scalpel in her lab coat pocket and waited until she was tucked inside of her old favorite closet to try it out again.

Today is her second day. The first day, yesterday, she merely held the smooth reflective surface against the blue of her veins. She admired the way her caramel skin contrasted with the silver. She questioned actually following through with it because suicidal thoughts are not actually new to this Torres but there is something that always stops her, the same thing that stopped her before. No matter how much she likes to speculate if anyone would notice, if anyone would grieve she always knows the answer and knows that this, this sick little fascination she has going on with one of her work instruments is very wrong and that there is no way in fucking hell she could explain it if she was caught.

So she steps inside the closet and makes sure everything stays exactly as it is, there's no need to set off any of the nosey nurses, and overturns a dirty bucket to make herself more comfortable on. Then she waits five minutes. She makes herself count out the seconds just to ensure that no one saw her duck in here and felt the need to rush after her for some non-emergent reason. It's not likely but it is possible and Callie is all for precautions now. Five minutes up confirmed by her watch and she feels her heart rush. This, two weeks after Mark has been gone, is her new high and it's a good one. Better than screaming at random interns, better than making her redheaded friend feel like shit even when they both know she isn't at fault, better than destroying everything in her life just to see if it will actually fall apart.

She grips the handle steadily not wanting to unintentionally do anything that she coincidentally doesn't think would be an accident if it ever happened and pulls the tool out of her white jacket. It feels light, it feels heavy. It's dark and it's bright. It's her everything and there is something morbidly wrong with this, she is well aware, but when the chilling instrument presses into her skin it doesn't feel anything but right. There was a brief moment yesterday where she tried to rationalize it all, the reasons why it felt so damn good and all that she could come up with was that she was in danger, mortal danger albeit at her own hand, but danger nonetheless and something about that woke her up inside and made her heart dance in a way that it hasn't for months.

Feeling the blade warm against her skin, she rotates it. Sharp edge down, the edge that slices and dices and saves lives could be the very edge that could end hers right now if she wanted. She takes a deep breath and pushes a little harder noticing the tension build in her skin under the blade. She feels the emotions rush through her, feels the alarm bells going off in her head and ignores them in favor of simply feeling for once. She relishes in the waves of good and bad, of fear and tediously calculated fun and when she's had her fill for the day she returns the dirty little secret to its home and makes her way out into the hallway to break some more bones.

This is her means to an end- just not in the way anyone would expect.

**_--_**

Mark has a feeling slipping his key into their sticky apartment lock. Technically, he's had the twinge since before he got out of car but feelings, in any sense, are not his thing so he ignored it. Now, as he swings the door back to find his once happy home devoid of furniture and personal belongings he realizes that he should have been a little more keen to the gut twist he had earlier.

His eyes dart around the room like a metal detector hoping to notice some signs of life. Kitchen drawers are empty; trash is taken out, TV missing. There's no way they were robbed which leaves it all on Callie. He shakes his head when he realizes what happened and then before he can stop himself he rushes down the small hallway to the once upon a time nursery to see black. Just black. Black walls, black drips of paint on the cream colored carpet, black closet doors. As his mind screams in time with his heart he pulls open those dark doors to find everything missing. No hats, no onsies, no rattles, no bottles, no baby book, no haphazardly thrown together boxes of things. Nothing.

It's as though Darren never existed at all. They're back at square one. Living in different places, smiling in the hallways at work, minding their own business as they silently suffer. Square fucking one. He slams the doors together and marches into his own room to find his personal belongings missing without explanation. No note, no lease to sign off on, nada, zilch, zero.

Callie has literally painted them out of her life and while part of Mark is grateful to be rid of it all on the surface, the other part…is as broken as his home.

**_--_**

"Hello Mark." Dr. Wyatt greets. He slumps into the couch, stares over at the stupid fish tank and then rests his elbows on his knees.

"Hey."

"So, how are you feeling today?"

"Fine." He nods, looks at the yellow fish swimming furiously around the tank for no good reason and turns back to his mandated doctor. He hasn't figured out if this is working or not but it certainly can't be hurting and this is one therapist he knows he can't get away with banging. She wouldn't have any of that so he sighs understanding that he has finally met his match.

"Really?" She dares.

"No."

"Ok then. Let's work." She fiddles with her pencil annoyingly until Mark finds it in himself to speak.

"Callie left."

"I thought you left Callie." She purses her lips.

"I checked into a hotel. I didn't leave her!" His voice rises and his therapist smirks. He kind of hates her for working in a hospital full of nuts because she can take whatever he is willing to dish out and then throw it right back in his face. This woman is the job.

"Why don't you tell me how you know Callie left then?"

"I went home…I went to- and she wasn't there. Nothing was there! She took it all and painted."

"Sometimes people need to paint." She pauses as he looks on curiously, "Why were you there?"

"It's black. She did not need to paint it black." Mark counters, frustrated.

"Maybe she did. Why were you there?"

"What's it matter!"

"Because it does." She slows down, enunciating each syllable carefully, as though she was speaking to a three year old. "Why were you there?"

"Because I needed socks! Ok?" He throws his hands into the air, mid tantrum and then stomps around the room feverishly.

"You needed socks? Any other reason?"

"No. Like what?"

"Like maybe you wanted to see Callie?"

"No."

"Ok." Dr. Wyatt nods and lightly sets down the pencil in her hand.

He glares at her tone. The voice that says she knows better, like she doesn't believe him, like she has some basis with which to draw that judgment. "Look I needed socks. I was in a hurry when I packed and I only-"

"I said ok. Let's move on Mark, we only have a half an hour today."

Square one.

**_--_**

Seven or so glasses of delicious scotch leave Mark feeling that this should probably be registering as a bad idea but he doesn't care. It's the only place he has to go since he can't remember which room he is staying in or where his keycard went running off to earlier in the night. He slams his fist into the door until the knob twists and he nearly pushes over Addison as he falls through the doorway. She jumps back in surprise and immediately calls Derek away from his baseball game to help. Drunken Mark is sometimes an angry Mark or a sad Mark or an overly friendly Mark and she is not in the mood, after losing two patients earlier, for any one of those combinations.

"Mark."

"Addie." He slurs, leaning carelessly from foot to foot feeling pretty damn good about life and at the same time still horribly depressed. How he is managing both feelings he is unsure.

"Hey man." Derek grins when Mark stumbles to the side and then just decides it's better to rest against the light blue wall than to try and focus on standing upright.

"Did you drive here Mark?" Addison clears her throat and looks remarkably unimpressed. He's seen that face too many times to count but rarely was he the reason behind it.

"There was driving." He nods, "No. I didn't think. I no." He pats his pockets, slapping his thighs and then laughs. "Nope. No driving for me!" He pauses, "Where's my car?"

"Good god." She mutters.

"What's going on?"

"What's-a-goin on with yous?" Mark smirks.

Derek and Addison exchange a knowing look before she excuses herself hastily and Derek forges the road alone. "You want to stay here tonight? We have an extra room. I can have Addison make you something to eat; did you eat before this Mark? Please tell me you were smart enough to eat."

"I had a room. Sandwich. I had a room Derk."

"Ok." Derek loops an arm around Mark's back and pries him from the walls nearly tangling their legs and tumbling onto the hard wood floor that his wife has been relentlessly sweeping and moping all week long. "Here we go. Come on."

"Where we going?"

"Addie! A little help here please?" Derek shouts down the hallway as they slowly crawl along.

She appears seconds later with her hands on her hips, "What do you want me to do?"

Derek pauses for thought but Mark keeps right along rolling his shoes into the floor. He trips over the edge of their new and way too fucking expensive (if you ask Derek) rug and he falls forward letting his arm around Derek's neck tighten. They plummet forward sending the dark haired man straight down, face first into the floor. He scrambles to get them both back upright, continuously managing to curse through out the whole ordeal while Mark chuckles about their accident inconsiderately.

"Derek where are you planning on taking him?" Addison presses, pushing into the group and taking Mark's other side to guide him. They barely fit three wide through the entryway to the living room and Derek gives up on the idea of climbing the stairs to the guest room, instructing Addison to drop him on the couch. Once in place, she unties Mark's well worn tennis shoes and begins to pull the first one off, his feet situated in her lap as he stares at Derek who he would swear in this moment looks like he is fifteen feet above them and spinning.

"We had a baby." Mark murmurs. "She killed our baby...baby. Dead."

Addison feels the color drain from her face rapidly and finishes pulling off the first shoe as fast as she can while Derek scratches at the stubble he refuses to shave confused and concerned. "Mark you should sleep. Derek will you go get some blankets from upstairs and a pillow?"

"Can you keep him from rolling off the couch all by yourself?"

"I got it. Go." She turns back to her once lover and stares him down not particularly minding the idea of him bashing his skull in on the coffee table corner in front of them. "Mark, look at me."

His eyes find hers immediately and he grins when her head looks like it is on fire. "Hello."

"You need to shut your mouth. You hear me?"

"You're angry."

"I will not have you ruining my life just because you're suffering. Whatever you've got going on with Callie will not be taken out on me anymore. What happened in New York is not Derek's business nor will it ever be. It's mine and yours and he does not get to know and you will not be the one telling him."

"We could've been happy-"

"No." She checks behind her as she hears the new floor squeak. "No, we are not doing this again. We are not rehashing this." She taps her chest feeling the need for hand gestures, "I am married, you are with Callie. I love Derek, you love Callie. It's hard right now, I get that Mark, I do but you will be fine. It will get better." His other shoe hits the floor with a more forceful thud than necessary and Addison looks for her husband again.

"I loved you." He tosses in, brain to mouth filter having been shot to hell an hour ago.

"I'm not doing this." Addison brushes by Derek on the fourth step of her ascent and tells him good luck and not to let Mark vomit on or in anything that isn't bolted into the tile of the downstairs bathroom. She has a few choice words stored up but there is no point in talking to Mark when he is this far gone. He's stubborn and reckless and she doesn't need any of it.

Derek fumbles his way over situating his best friend and tucking him in safely to make sure there aren't any unwanted injuries or accidents throughout the course of the night but his mind is preoccupied. He half-heartedly says his goodnight and listens just long enough to hear Mark admit that he misses Callie and that he screwed something up but Derek doesn't have it in him to hear the rest of the story. He has an overly emotional woman upstairs to fuss over so he pats Mark's shoulder and tells him to get some sleep and that it will all be better in the morning. Unfortunately, life stopped working that way at the age of five for his friend.

**_--_**

Because Derek was more concerned about getting upstairs to make sure that his wife was okay after once again being accused of something she had no control over, he kind of let it slip where Callie was staying at some point during the pillow fluffing and blanket adjusting, even though he was sworn to secrecy. And because once upstairs he was mistaken about Addison's tears that unbeknownst to him were warranted and wracked with guilt and remorse he didn't hear the front door open hours later. Mark, more lucid than he's felt in months even if he is still a little tipsy, slipped from their new home at five in the morning to track down the primary source of his pain.

His second door in twenty-four hours is opened by the half-awake resident, Yang, who looks like if she had a weapon in her hand she wouldn't hesitate to kill him.

"Is Callie here?"

"You smell." Cristina twitches her nose and puts a hand over her face.

"Is she here?" He growls, throat aching from last night's voyage, mouth tasting like old tape and sunburned worms.

"Yeah."

He watches Cristina march back into the apartment, not inviting him in but not slamming the door in his face either so he eagerly follows in her footsteps until he finds Callie crashed on the couch, eyes half open, breathing easy and slow. She looks peaceful, content in her rest and he almost hates to wake her but it's now or never. He taps her shoulder feeling the resolve churning in his stomach slowly begin to disappear…or maybe that's the alcohol and hot wings he decided to mesh together. "Callie."

"Go away." She mumbles, eyes pressing closed.

"Callie wake up. We need to talk."

She squints, flips upright startled and then begins to search for the clock on the oven in the kitchen that she can kind of, sort of see if she moves the right way. 5:29. In the morning. She doesn't work until ten. Her eyes refocus on Mark and the apprehension sets in. "What the hell are you doing here right now?"

They hear Cristina slam her bedroom door shut, serving as a warning that if they even think about getting loud she will kick them into the hallway. "You painted the apartment."

"I moved out." Callie corrects quickly.

"You took my shit!"

"It's in the dumpster if you want it." She shrugs and reaches for the red blanket that fell to the floor in her fit of consciousness.

He stands, shoves his hands in his pockets at the risk of doing something else with them and begins to pace. "Why did you do that?" She stares ahead blankly, fixed with a look he's been subjected to for hours upon hours in the past. Empty, void, it makes him want to shake her until her body snaps to and signals correctly. "Answer me damn it!"

"I had to." She says softly, "And you left me. Where do you get off?"

"I didn't leave you Callie. I'm staying at a damn hotel. You know what room I'm in and I see you at work. You never even try to talk to me. You could have told me what you were doing."

"You don't try to talk to me either. Don't stand over there on your pedestal and pretend that this is all my doing. You've fucked up too."

He wrangles his hands free and slumps onto the couch next to her, completely out of steam. "You painted his room black."

"It's not his room anymore."

"It-"

"He is gone. That is not his room." Callie recites voice empty, "That is not our home anymore. There is no him. Deal with it."

"Oh, that's what you are doing? Dealing? Dealing by living with Cristina Yang? You may as well move back into the basement at the hospital, get a pet rat and start painting your face black."

"Get out." Callie demands tugging her blanket higher and pointing to the door. She's not trudging down memory lane right now.

"No. We are talking. We need to talk."

"Is that what she tells you in therapy Mark? That we need to talk because I have a newsflash for you- talking isn't going to fix this." She motions to the space between them vigorously.

He pauses for a few seconds and lets her calm down because the last thing he came for was another fight at least in the physical sense. "Fine. You know what, fine. Fucking great. You live here and pretend that the last year and a half of your life never existed and I-"

"Will go fuck everything with a rack." Callie finishes triumphantly as he stands back up.

"Maybe I will." He smiles smugly and makes his way to the door completely resound in the fact that this did not go as planned but he needs a parting shot, "You know what Callie? I'm happy things went the way they did. It's for the best."

The door crashes shut as the first of many tears begin to work their way down her face. Her first fear is confirmed. He never wanted any of it. Not the relationship, not their son, not anything that came before or after. She wiggles into the warm couch and turns against the back to muffle the muted shrieks coming from her throat.

Today is not going to be a good day and she can't help but think, as she pulls the blanket up over her eyes, what would have happened if she never told him the baby was his. What could have happened if her better judgment had won out in the beginning and she decided to go the route of being a single mother. As the thoughts fill her mind and her tears soak the material surrounding her face she slowly slips back into a frightful state of sleep wrought with fresh memories and churning seas of red, thick blood.

**_--_**

"Maybe you should just tell her." Miranda nudges Addison in the shoulder as they chew over the situation, literally, with a fresh bag of crunchy cheetos.

"I can't. I don't…I wouldn't even know where to start." She munches contemplatively though still more concerned with getting nourishment to her baby girl than getting Callie to see that Mark isn't the one she should be fighting against. The thought has been floating around her head for days, even before last nights adventures into drunken fun land and now she just flat out regrets sharing with her only friend.

"How about you start by handing over the cheetos and waddling your skinny butt over there? Then just open your mouth. You're good at that part from what I hear." Miranda snatches the bag, places it on the counter and dares her boss to try and reach across the gap to get another snack without losing a limb.

"This is not my place."

"Yes because that always seems to stop you." Miranda's eyebrow twitches and it's enough to send Addison to the lunch table where Callie is slowly torturing an apple with her fingernails by leaving little indents all over the glossy skin.

"Hey Callie." Addison chokes out and carefully wedges herself into a chair across the table without making any sort of eye contact. It's best not to look directly at the beast she has found. Since their dinner, it's been awkward but outburst-less mostly at the cost of Addison hiding in her wing of the hospital and avoiding the elevators even when Derek bitches about the potential dangers of pregnant women being hit by swinging stairwell doors and clumsy interns running the flights. She doesn't care. It's worth it.

"Hi."

Addison nods and tries to stare at her shiny leather pumps until the hospital gods send her a random page but after five minutes she gives up. "I heard you are living with Cristina."

"Yup." Callie affirms without movement. She avoided her old scalpel and wrist routine today, the seventh day. It was a horrible morning, her eyes still puffy to prove the point, and she doesn't trust herself to be careful enough. Being careful is essential, control is mandatory in the game.

"So you and Mark…"

"Just ask whatever it is you want to ask so I can get back to work." Callie snaps.

"Did you break up with Mark?" Addison asks confidently. Things used to be so easy with Callie. They would talk over drinks and just spill whatever the issues were and then they would strategize or go into denial. Now it's like pulling teeth from cement to even get a question answered let alone a conversation started.

"None of your business."

Addison taps her entertaining shoe along the tile until she can no longer contain herself. Callie is her friend but Mark was her friend long before she ever came into the picture and he is, though unconvincingly at times, a good person. He's a good man and he doesn't deserve the horrible display she had on her couch last night. "Listen, you hate me. I get that. I do understand but I'm not going to apologize anymore. I did my job. I did it to the best of my abilities and I wasn't able to save your son. There was nothing anyone could have done so you know that stupid file you hide in your charts at night when no one is looking?" Callie looks up wide-eyed, nostrils flaring. "Yeah, I know about that. Everyone knows except Mark it seems which is a real shame because from what I heard you are the one who pushed him away for doing the same thing."

Callie isn't exactly sure how this information became of the public nature or when her life became a fucking soap opera that could be turned into a showdown in the cafeteria but she's not having any of it. She stands, tries to excuse herself politely and then she hears Addison's bitchy tone full force behind her, "You get to yell at everyone in this place but I can't even have a conversation with you about you?"

Callie spins around in her shoes and stalks back to the redhead that is struggling to stand up and tower over her. Normally she would help but she couldn't care less. "This isn't a conversation and I am not interested in drawing any more attention to myself. I've had enough of that." In fact, given the option, Callie would much rather sink into the morgue and disappear for the day than have this talk.

"Callie," Addison's voice drops into a soft worried tone, "Mark showed up on my doorstep last night completely trashed and yammering on and on. He's a good guy. I know that this isn't a favorable state of affairs but he's decent guy- better than decent Cal and I would hate to see that go south just because-"

"Just because our lives have been turned completely upside down? Because we lost a baby? If that's not a good fucking reason Addison, I don't know what is. And I saw your better than decent man this morning- you don't know what you are talking about so for the last time I'm going to ask you to mind your own business because if you try to bring this shit to me-"

"I'm not afraid of you. Maybe I was in the beginning, maybe I felt sorry for you but I don't anymore. You refuse to help yourself and see what's going on around you. I'm tired of caring. You're on your own just like you want from here on out. Have a nice life, really, I wish you all the best." Addison squeezes Callie's arm tenderly contrasting with her venomous tone. As she swaggers away and the hard glares of her loyal minions set in Callie fingers the scalpel. She's about to make a hasty decision, she needs the rush and subsequent clearing of her psyche after that encounter but her pager finally beeps to life demanding that she reset someone's shoulder.

Score pager one, Callie negative two.

**_--_**

She managed somehow to muddle through the rest of the afternoon without noticing Mark's shoddy attempts at seducing a new nurse and without seeing the way everyone was staring at her again. She thought that after almost five months people would have settled down and the gossip about her once very low-key life would have become nothing more than dust murmurs. She was wrong, very wrong. About a lot of things. As she ties her running shoes with their ragged soles and dirty laces a little tighter, she realizes how very wrong she was.

There had been a few moments here and there when she thought she was having an out of body experience. Where she was simply watching herself without any control of the scene. Just staring from up above, helpless and predestined to continue the course. In those instances, she knew she was wrong. She knew she was wrong to ask Mark to hit her, to bitch out Addison, to ignore the commands of her chief, to continue serving patients without being cleared, to paint the nursery black. The times where she ruined relationships and memories she was out of line…but she couldn't stop it.

Her feet pound the parking lot, searching for a way out of the ocean of blue, black and red vehicles. Her mind swirls with Addison's comments on what a good guy Mark is, about how she is ruining her life, about how she never attempts to seek out any help. The woman has a point, rarely does she not Callie has come to realize, but regrettably Callie is already too far down this one-way street to turn around. She's effectively screwed over her closest friend, endangered her career and pushed away a man who she once knew to be her best friend regardless of whether or not the love they felt would stand the test of time.

She pauses, breathing evenly because of her relentless daily training, at a nearby crosswalk. There's always an opportunity for danger. She could rush out into this moving line of traffic and never see the light of day again, she could drown herself into a pool of alcohol and never smell the exhaust of the city, she could buy a gun and lose her mind one day, she could crash her car into a tree somewhere out in the woods and not be found for weeks. They're all very real possibilities that the rest of the population seems bent on trying to elude. Sometimes they are successful and when they aren't they are brought to her. To mend, to repair, to make whole again. That's her job so why can't she fix herself. The light switches and she breezes by an old man with a cane meandering his way across the street. She could be just like that if she's lucky. If she's careful enough she could grow to be one hundred and three and senile as all hell.

Once upon a time she wanted that. Now, as she pumps her arms and pushes her legs to the brink of destruction she wants nothing. She was wrong and she wants nothing to do with anything. It's a new low but an enlightened movement just the same. She resolves to get rid of the scalpel tomorrow because it's asinine to tempt herself day in and day out with something she doesn't really care about regardless of how it makes her feel. Its danger has been negated by the very world she sees around her and she feels fooled for ever having thought it would make a difference in her life.

Seven miles, thousands of footsteps, and one exhausted mind later she arrives "home" to find Cristina, Meredith, Alex, Izzie and George crowding her living space. She grimaces, kicks her sweaty, dingy shoes off and huffs her bangs off her damp forehead.

"Hey Callie." Meredith greets as everyone stares intently at their books. Everyone that is except for George who is apparently just along for the ride.

"Hi."

"We're just studying for Shepherd's big case tomorrow. He said he only needs two of us and-"

"It's cool." Callie cuts Izzie off and grabs a bottle of water out of the refrigerator to replenish her body's need. She's down thirty-one pounds and in the best shape of her life. At least she's getting one thing out of this.

"We'll be done in a few hours." Cristina pipes up, a little weary after this morning but assured by Callie's firm grin and nod.

"I was going to make dinner…you guys in for fajitas?" Callie questions pulling the chicken and peppers out.

"Hell yeah." Alex asserts and then shrugs when everyone else looks at him questioningly.

"Ok." Callie listens to the medical case without interest as she pulls out the rest of her ingredients out and gets to work. She hasn't really cooked in almost a half a year but it just feels like an evening to be in the kitchen. With people lightly chattering in the room next to her, the open breeze from the window, it's a day to cook; a day to entertain and she welcomes the distraction.

She guts her bell peppers cleaning the seeds out and rinsing them mindful to keep an eye on her chicken so it doesn't burn. She dices and slices with the precision of a long time chef and then scoots the peppers away from her and reaches for an onion. She gets the ends off and the skin peeled away before she makes her mistake. Just one millisecond and the tip of her very sharp (and admittedly too large for this kind of work) knife has grazed the very wrist that she mocked all week.

"Shit." She sighs at the irony before realizing that it's actually a pretty deep cut and snags the dishtowel to her right off of the counter.

"Everything okay in there?" George calls out, aware of the tone she is using and bored of the stupid case he isn't going to be doing anything for but running labs.

"Yeah, fine." She lets up the towel to check one more time and shakes her head. "Fuck. No."

Izzie bounces from her chair immediately and does a hop-skip-jump over Alex's head before she can reach the kitchen. "Let me see."

Callie ignores the fact that after all the things she's said lately, Izzie should probably just stand there and watch her bleed with glee and pushes her arm forward. "It's ok. I just…it'll need stitches."

"I'll drive." Meredith volunteers. Alex grumbles something but decides to come along and the six pile out the door, Callie squeezing her wrist with all the pressure she can manage and Izzie leading her gently by her other arm in the right direction as she begins to grapple with the severity of the injury.

**_--_**

After an argument over who got to stitch up the resident (Cristina winning), one brawl over whether or not to call anyone, one mild numbing agent, one blood draw and one screaming match Callie sits on a gurney in a private room bound by the laws of Miranda Bailey to stay in place until she says so. At some point it turned into a game of running silly labs and performing ridiculous examinations that were all unnecessary but allegedly long overdue and Bailey wasn't going to free her until she had all of her answers.

She tucks her knees to her shrinking chest and admires her plain toenails like they are the best television show she has seen in a long time.

"Legs in the stirrups." Addison demands authoritatively marching into the room.

"I don't-"

"I didn't come down here on a whim because I wanted to have a peek. Now up." She taps Callie's leg harder than necessary with her open palm.

Callie bites her lip as Addison sets about her job, poking and prodding in places that haven't been touched in too long. She tries to set the ceiling on fire with her eyes, tries to find the leaves outside her window interesting and then gives up, gives in to all of the emotions running through her head that are attempting to pull her from the grey haze. "I'm sorry." She whispers.

Addison looks up, eyes locked on her friend and grins, "Apology accepted."

"That's it?"

The redhead nods and finishes her job quickly more than pleased that without proper medical consultation Callie hasn't managed to mess up anything down there. "Yup and I'm done." She scoots back and gives Callie's cold foot a quick squeeze. "I've missed you."

"I've fucked up everything."

"It'll be okay Callie."

"And when it's not?" Callie mutters, eyes battling their own wetness as her friend tears up inadvertently.

"When it's not- I have a guest room with an amazing bed that I can assure is infinitely better than Yang's couch or wherever it is that you are sleeping these days."

"Ok." Callie sniffles, "So we're alright then?"

"I should probably make you grovel but…I'm just happy to have you back on my side. We're not one hundred percent but we will be."

"You're going to be a good mother, I'm sorry if I ever implied that you weren't and I shouldn't have said-"

Addison wheels her stool a little farther up the bed and puts herself, awkwardly into Callie's arms for a hug to cut her off. "If my baby dies I will kill someone and I don't care who- so it's okay. It's all okay." She pulls back and wipes her eyes before standing and turning to the doorway where Mark stands alone with a piece of gray fabric curled into his fist. "And I'm going." She smiles at Mark on her way out and gives him the "good luck" wink.

Finally alone he takes Addison's abandoned seat and tosses the Yankees shirt onto Callie's bed. "Here, I thought you might want something other than that stupid gown."

"Mark-" Callie starts as her voice cracks and the waterfall begins. He was not supposed to be called, he wasn't to be notified of the catastrophe that led her here and after everything he still found it in himself to show up. He's a good man and she's an idiot.

"Don't." He shakes his head and takes one look at her bandaged wrist. "Did you-"

"No!" She cuts him off.

"Ok then."

She watches him exit the room without another word, the shirt now pressed against her chest; Mark scratched into the heart that keeps refusing to heal.

**_--_**

The holidays will prove themselves to be fruitless and trying. It will take Mark two more weeks of Callie's begging, Addison's threatening and Derek's coercing to go with the plan he has wanted all along. From now until then he will think it over when he sees her in the halls, try to avoid the racing of his heart when he accidentally walks in on her changing in the locker room and ignore Nancy Shepherd's plans for getting him to come home. He'll sit through Thanksgiving dinner next to Callie, both pretending as though they are fine and more importantly together and it won't be until he finds her upstairs in ruins that his mind will stop thinking and his body reacts.

Their road through Christmas will be rough and borderline consumed with the what ifs, the toys that they should have been buying, the family they could have been celebrating with and it will take every ounce of strength from both of them not to throw their collective arms into the air and walk away once and for all. When the stupid tinsel and colored lights blink on Christmas morning all they'll feel is pain but what will make the difference is having one another there; knowing that even though it hurts like hell and there's no sign of stopping that there is at least one more person who feels the same.

The simple fact that there is one other human in the world who understands that despite everything, despite how much they want it, despite how much they daydream about it there is no changing the past, will make all of the difference as they toe the line between sanity and land of despair they have become so well acquainted with.

* * *

**_A/N: And now for your stupid joke of the day-_**

**__****_  
_**What do you call a mushroom at a bar who buys everyone a drink?

**_- A real fun-guy (fungi)_**


	10. Startle the heavens lament

**_--_**  
**_Startle The Heavens (Lament)_**  
**_--_**

Sometimes they feel like, as doctors, it is their job to remain neutral because when they aren't, when they are involved personally the stakes jump and little mistakes become huge mistakes and then suddenly seemingly healthy people wind up dead or scarred for life. It's best to avoid those type of situations. It's easier on the mind and body to stay calm and collected. Unfortunately, death has a way of creeping into every aspect of one's life. It edges further in like a little mole burrowing in and out, determined to undermine all the good things about living. It takes away delight from simple pleasures, turns joyous occasions into gut wrenching reminders; it slowly but surely destroys everything in its path leaving the wreckage to the poor idiots who are stupid enough to stick around.

It's not a quick process. Sometimes the death itself is. Darren's was. He didn't linger for long, there wasn't a lot of suffering on his part (not that they know much one way or the other). There was no tube jammed down his throat and no monitor steadily beeping in the background serving to dampen the mood. But the part, the lingering thoughts and emotions of those who are personally entangled with the case, that train is slow moving and energy draining.

If they were never over acting participants it's easy to jump off the train and wave to the rest of the passengers as they bid a sorrowful goodbye to the free soul. They all dive, tuck and roll at different moments. From time to time little scrapes and broken bones are gained in the fall; if they weren't ready, if they weren't prepared for the impact. But what is worse is that some people never get off the train. They merely stare back at the multitudes below them in the tall weedy grass wishing to feel the ground under their feet; hoping that one day they will be sensing the sun's rays beat down against their flesh again. They meander the little track feeling the same things, wanting the same things, needing someone to hold their hand and maybe give them a little push from behind so they can fall face first into the mud.

Callie is still on the train refusing to acknowledge that the locomotive even exists. Mark is searching for the exit signs to relieve himself of the pain. He weaves through the seats, dashes through cars, handles the moves with precision but he's not getting released any time soon. He doesn't have the choice. There are no tickets and predestined pit stops on this beast. The outs won't illuminate themselves until his eyes are healed enough to see them.

They circle and circle through the fiery flames wondering why it is that it's not their turn. Under the tall shady trees of the refreshingly cool field Derek, Cristina, Izzie, Meredith, George and Richard can be seen carrying on about their lives. But for Addison, Alex, Miranda, Mark and Callie the joyride isn't over.

For the two most involved it's just beginning because sometimes trying to hold someone's hand on the bumpy ride is worse than prematurely jumping and getting yanked back aboard.

**_--_**

"You could at least talk to Callie. Hear her out Mark. She is trying to be better-"

"Go away Addison." He barks and slams his pink chart shut before tossing it on the counter in front of him. It's been a week and a half of the nagging, eleven days of rather pitiful voicemails and avoiding the raven hair that he loves at every turn of a corner. He's not ready to talk to her. He hasn't gathered his thoughts, his words are not prepared for battle and she'll want to battle- it's all she ever wants anymore and Mark is tired.

"Listen Thanksgiving is at my house this year so...you should come. See Mom, let her stuff you with pie. Maybe you'll be able to talk on a full stomach."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat. You've lost weight. It doesn't look good." She nods knowingly as he looks down at his scrubs. He has lost quite a few pounds but running and not eating well will do that to a person. At least someone finally noticed.

"Mom hates me. Kathleen hates me, Nancy- I don't want to deal with all the noise besides I have to work." He stammers unconvincingly.

"You don't work. I told Richard to make sure you were off so you and Callie could come. I'm expecting you to be there." Addison smiles and sways off down the hall like she's on a cloud. Mark has no idea where she gets the bubbly attitude from or when she started talking to Callie but it must have been recent because the air of the entire hospital has changed...everything except the dark cloud Mark carries over his shoulder.

"I'm not coming." He shouts at her but if she hears him she doesn't let on.

**_--_**

It's the third time he's been drug into a spare room this week and it's always the same person bugging him about coming over for the holidays, a conversation that he is more than fed up with having. This time though he notices caramel colored skin instead of the ivory that now haunts his past. "Callie." He whispers lowly, checking behind a hanging curtain to make sure there are no sick patients.

She stares back at him. She had a point. She had an excuse, an apology, a speech and now nothing. Nothing when his blue, cold eyes look down at her. Not a word can make it to her mind clearly.

"Did you need something? Have something you wanted to say?" He asks callously, challenging her to rise.

"I wanted to know if you were coming to Thanksgiving. I'm staying with Addison and I was just...wondering." She says softly. Of all the things she has to say to this man that is what she comes up with. Good to see that her social awkwardness is still intact. The switching of gears is ridiculous. Going from tough as nails, hates the world to broken and trying to let people help is not an easy transition for Callie and it takes all of her self-restraint not to flip back to bitch mode every ten seconds.

"No. Anything else?" His eyes dart to the door, waiting to be released so he can get on with his day and move to his jogging where he doesn't have to think about anything. No wondering whether or not that bandage on her wrist is covering a dirty secret instead of an accident, no questioning whether or not he drove her to it, no ideas about things could have been so fucking different and how he wants a new life.

He regrets this. The situation he is in. Not his son, that was unarguably the best thing he has ever done with his life and probably always will be but the rest...the hurt and the relationship issues and the loyalty. He regrets all of that because it would have been easier to just let her have primary custody and for him to visit on the weekends but he got jealous, he got greedy and admittedly he feel in love a little. He regrets the last part too.

Things used to be so uncomplicated. He used to be so good at being detached.

"Thanks for the shirt." She says meekly thrusting the worn gray material in his hands. Their fingers brush and he feels his chest quiver for a second as she blushes. No, it was never supposed to end up like this. He wants his control back.

"No problem." He dashes for the door intent on hitting the stairs for a much needed outlet in between surgeries but her voice behind him calls him back. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted...I miss you."

"I miss you too." He grins slightly and then lets the door slam itself on his way out. He misses her but he doesn't need her back in his life. Not right now, not when he is trying to move on.

All Calliope Torres does is drag him down and he's done with it.

**_--_**

Between miles and showers and more footsteps logged on the wet pavement of Seattle he decided to go to Thanksgiving. He was healing, he was growing and this was a part of his life once so there was no reason not to attend. You know, unless you counted the adultery and long lost child that that section of his "family" knows nothing about. So now he is stuck next to Callie mashing potatoes while some fool, presumably Addison, has trusted her with a knife to continue preparing the vegetables for the small platter on his left. They were silent during the more than thorough instructions given by the rambling redhead who is obviously nervous and now he can't break the monotony. He can't blame Addison, the butterflies in his stomach are verging on the nauseous side of the scale.

He clears his throat and then squishes the masher thingy into the pot a little harder. Callie doesn't notice. She's busy watching the silver blade, keeping it far away from her skin, trying not to be too blatant with her apprehension.

"So..." Mark drifts on and looks around the corner to make sure their conversation isn't going to be overheard by nosy Shepherds.

"Yeah?" Callie questions attempting not to look overly interested. He's been ignoring her all week. Despite her phone calls, messages at the hotel and the planned rendez-vous in the on call room that went nowhere he has been nowhere accessible. She's on the verge of begging, the edge of crying when he is around. She needs him to understand that she realizes what she's done- she just doesn't know how to fix it. Especially without him.

"They don't...know and it's the holidays so I'd just as soon not say anything unless Derek has but I don't think that he would and they haven't flown out to bug me so I suppose it is safe to say that he didn't open his fat mouth-"

"You're...point?" Callie cuts in unwillingly. It's the most he's talked to her in over a month.

"My point is they don't know and I don't want to talk about it so...let's pretend that-" He doesn't finish, he can't say it out loud. He won't ask her to act like their son never existed, even though that's what needs to happen.

"I got it." She smiles softly. Her hand reaches across to his arm when his breath hitches and gives a light squeeze. "We can do this." She reminds him, "We've been through worse."

"Right."

**_--_**

"So Marky, how did you two meet?" Nancy asks, tipping her wine glass into her mouth once more.

Callie watches one of the sisters- Madolyn?- reach over and smack her arm. There's more people here then she cares to think fit in the house and every single time one of them looks at them sideways they are reaching for a hand or rubbing each other's legs to look involved. They are simply going through the motions they used to be so well acquainted with and it kills.

"Yeah. Tell us...or Addie will." Kathleen, (another sister? Callie is simply confused) threatens and then sets her chin on her palm, waiting and fascinated that the once great manwhore has settled down.

"Well...Cal, why don't you tell them? You're a better storyteller than I am." Mark shovels another spoonful of corn into his mouth and chews waiting.

"Oh. Ok." He tightens his grip on her hand below the table and she begins by inhaling deeply, "Well we met at work. That's kind of it actually and then we eventually got together and here we are."

"That's it?" Nancy asks, "That's how you tamed the wild beast? No magic tricks or shock collars in your bag of tricks?" Callie shakes her head as a unreadable expression comes across Mark's face and the color drains out of Addison's across the table. The hostess has done her level best to keep them all sober and playing nicely but she's had her run and frankly she needs a nap.

"Then you must be the one." Kathleen declares and raises her glass for a toast. They watch horrified as the rest of the table obliges. "To proving that Mark isn't the whore we all thought he was- Ouch!" She cries out as her mother's arm, Helen Callie thinks it was, reaches across a few place settings, "To Callie who made a man out of a child and to Mark who is one lucky bastard."

"Here here!" Derek shouts out from the end of the table, situated in the group of Shepherd women's husbands, and drinks before his sister can carry on.

At some point during the long drawn out meal, they went from happy with Mark's choices into interrogation mode which everyone but Callie knew was coming. The questions are rapid fire and unforgiving of hesitance and she can't for the life of her figure out why Addison spoke so highly of these people all of the time. Sure they're fun, rambunctious and entertaining but they aren't loving and openly receptive to the idea of their "brother" being taken away by someone he hadn't bothered to bring around before. She can only imagine how it was for her friend trying to steal away their actual blood relation.

Callie watches the rolls pass by in front of her and snatches one remembering Karen's (the twin of Kathleen she has learned) comment about how she shouldn't be afraid to eat more than the salad on her plate. Mark's been as silent as possible and Callie can feel her dam beginning to break, her resolve is crumbling in the mess of children, words and turkey.

"How long have you guys been together?" Kathleen asks.

"About 19 months." Callie replies and Mark shrugs his compliance. It sounds good enough.

"19 months Mark! And you haven't brought her home?" Helen scolds, her short brown hair bouncing as she disapproves and frankly Callie is frightened. This mother bear scares the shit out of her. She's normally alright with parents, she was good with George's but these people are on another playing field. They are from Connecticut, Addison explained earlier in the day, as if that is supposed to outline all of the differences plain and clear for her friend. It makes zero sense. What the fuck does a state have to do with anything?

"We've been busy." Mark relents and then stuffs his cheeks with more cranberry sauce and bird. He hasn't eaten like this in almost a year and he is going to be sick. That much is certain but it's well worth the distraction.

"Busy with what? You two run off and get married or something?"

"No." Callie manages and looks over at her "boyfriend". She wants to give up, call uncle, beg for mercy. This charade is not going well and she needs a punching bag. The only thing worse than pretending day in and day out for work is looking at the pained expression on Mark's face when he is forced to touch her. It looks like it physically harms him to feel her skin and it makes her want to vomit the truth and run for freedom in the form of whatever bar is closest and open.

"Addison this...stuff is delicious." Callie comments trying to take the focus off of them. Why isn't anyone paying attention to the pregnant lady who is about to explode? Life is unfair.

"You cook much dear?" Helen asks.

"Oh...a little." Callie replies while Addison subconsciously warns her to shake her head no.

"Well maybe we could come have Christmas at your place then. Addison is due around then and we can't very well expect her to make dinner twice in one year especially not with a new baby no matter how much she says she doesn't mind." A very distinctive glare shot towards Addison makes Callie wiggle in her seat uncomfortably. "See in our family we usually rotate cooks and all meet at the house just the same but now that Derek and Addie are on the other side of the world I guess tradition will have to change a little."

"Uh...sure, no yeah. That would be nice. We'd love to have you over." Over where she's not sure. They can get to that little detail later after she hatches a plan to get out of cooking.

"Good then, that settles it." Helen looks around at her children triumphantly as Callie sinks a little lower in her spot.

"You wouldn't mind would you Addison?" Callie asks, eyes open wide, pleading for salvation.

"Darling the only reason Addison has invited us all here is to start her penance for what she did to my son and to my family. You have nothing to worry about, I'm sure it will be a lovely time. Perhaps your parents could join us."

Holy hell. Callie's mouth opens but she chokes on the words when Addison hastily excuses herself and Derek begins bitching out his entire family for treating his wife like a slave all day. Things go from bad to worse when the focus does actually shift off of Callie onto the many ways that Derek is wrong about his entire life (and about remarrying a woman who killed another man's child and screwed him over) and then the children are taken from their table without being allowed to finish and are ushered into the den to play games while Helen calls a family meeting. She subsequently, out of curiosity, drags Callie into the middle of it by asking her how she feels about adultery and abortion. All Callie can do is look around her new seat on the couch next to Mark and wonder what the hell just happened. These people are like a category five hurricane.

"Well would you ever cheat on Mark?" Kathleen interrupts from her position at the front of the room. As the appointed family shrink she is also the mediator though she is letting everyone get away with murder while Derek sits slack-jawed in the corner listening to Nancy recount the abortion that Addison went through a two years ago. No one knows how she found out and no one is asking. Derek's too hung up and flabbergasted anyway and he kind of looks like he wants to smash the coffee table over Mark's head if Callie is not mistaken.

Everyone is this room knew but him and it makes Callie smile. At least she isn't the fool today.

"No." She replies and honestly doesn't know. Once a application at a job asked, "If the conditions were ideal would everyone cheat?" She couldn't answer it then when it was about videos and petty cash and she can't answer it now about relationships.

"See. You've got a good woman finally Mark. One who knows and understands the sanctity of wedding vows unlike-"

"Stop it!" Derek demands. "Stop it. Shut up."

Mark braces himself for the temper tantrum he knows is coming. Oh how things get ugly when family comes around and he is without a doubt regretting coming here today. Here they go, "Derek man-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now." Derek snaps.

Mark nods and fixes his gaze on the carpet. It's all falling down again. He's on instant replay watching his best friend's blood curdle and the relationship rots right in front of his eyes. He tries instead to block out all the voices and find patterns on the floor beneath him and it's not until Madolyn jabs him in the ribs that he notices the person that was next to him is now inexplicably missing. He excuses himself from the fight and brushes past Addison who is watching fearfully from the stairs. "She up here?"

"Somewhere." She nods.

"I'm sorry-"

"Not your fault Mark. It's mine. Always mine. Go find her."

**_--_**

It takes two bedrooms and one spare bathroom before Mark finds Callie huddled up against the side of a white bathtub, a ball of wet tissue in her lap and the discarded floral container on the floor next to her. He contemplates leaving for far longer than he should and then steps in and latches the door shut behind him before twisting the lock. He pulls the wads of mascara covered fiber from her legs and reaches for her hands to pull her upright. He's not thinking. He's simply doing, something that he thought he forgot how to do months ago.

Once standing she slumps into his chest trying not to cry again and he pushes them back toward the counter for leverage. "Callie. Breathe."

"They hate Addison. They hate me. Why don't they hate you?"

"They don't hate you. This is the way they are." He smooths a loose curl out of her eyes and for a split second they are just Mark and Callie. Unaffected, not tainted by life. It flashes by too quickly to grasp but not too soon to be felt.

"Why don't they hate you?"

"Because I was never expected to be anything good for Derek not like Addison was. Can we not talk about this right now? I don't want them to come searching for us." He takes a step back as she places both hands on the counter top behind her.

"They're busy." She counters trying to gain her confidence back. It's been awhile since she's had a breakdown, where an event has sent her running for cover and the relapse is not welcome.

"Maybe we should make a run for it then." He looks toward the drapes for a second and shocks himself by realizing he isn't kidding. Jumping out of that second story window into whatever bush that is below isn't a half bad idea right now.

"I'm not going back out there. Not with them so...you can go if you want to." Callie insists, her footing starting to solidify with her back to mirror and tear streaks still present on her splotchy cheeks.

"They aren't that bad Cal. They just take awhile to warm up to new people." Mark shrugs as her fury builds.

"Were you paying attention at all or were you too busy counting the threads in the carpet to hear what was going on around you?"

"I heard them. Derek was being a girl and Nancy was being a man and it's really the same every single time with them. You've seen one Shepherd explosion, you've seen them all."

"He threw us under the fucking bus Mark!"

"What?"

"Derek! Threw. Us. Under. The. Bus." Callie reiterates slowly. "You weren't paying attention, were you?"

He steps back carefully. He's not going to ever slap her again and he isn't going to allow her to incite that kind of riot from him. "I guess not."

"He told you to shut up and then he pointed the finger at us. The last thirty minutes I've been answering questions about our son and why he isn't alive anymore while your asshole of a best friend sat around with a smirk on his face and Addison watched from twenty feet away. I thought...I didn't. Ugh!" Her hands reach wildly into the air trying to thrash something while she reaches the height of her frustration. "I didn't come here to be interrogated. I didn't come here to have people look at me like that!"

"I didn't ask you to come. Don't blame it on me!"

"I wasn't." Her voice softens and the tears prick the corners of her dark eyes once again. This day has not gone to plan at all, "If you wouldn't have- Why did we have to pretend?" She stops herself and stretches her neck out. She knows why they had to pretend. Same reason they do everyday.

To make the people around them more comfortable. It's now well past acceptable to mope and complain and cry in public. Those days are long gone and they aren't coming back even though the pain they both feel is just as blinding as it was in June.

The knock on the door several minutes later serves as a hand to the face and when they pull back the door they find Addison with her hands across her widening stomach and a somber look on her face. "What?" Mark growls watching her shirk away at his tone.

"Were you guys- Never mind."

"Were we what?" Callie asks brushing the dried moisture off her face.

"I was going to tell you if you had to have sex in my bathroom to at least clean up after yourselves but now I see that's an unfair assessment of the situation at hand."

"You think?" Callie replies.

"God I'm sorry. Sorry for everything." Her red tresses fall into her face when she looks down and mutters to herself that it's not the time to be funny to which both Mark and Callie agree but the random statement has evidently broken the spell on the pristine room. "If you want to sneak out the back door and never talk to us again I'd understand. I didn't think that they'd be like this."

"Please. You knew." Mark counters angrily.

"So did you." Callie interjects with equal venom. She's finally the victim, at last and it feels so, so good.

"Well if it's any consolation to your horrible holiday I think Mom is plotting all the ways I could conveniently die in childbirth."

"She's not that bad." Mark rolls his eyes. They're vicious and unforgiving at times but they are, as it would happen, his only sort of family. Once upon a time, when he didn't know any better, he wanted to be like them. To have a happy, huge, crazy ass family who at the end of the day drove each other insane out of love. Through the years he just decided it wasn't in the cards for him. Not until Callie. Not until Darren and now he just thinks he was right all along. Not every person gets the happy ending and he's not one to deserve it.

"Yeah, I know. I'll just go." She looks around awkwardly and then disappears again.

"That was weird." Callie snorts beginning to let the effects of the day wear on her mental standing.

"That was Addison." Mark corrects and then grimaces when her laughter dies. He doesn't even like that he knows her that well anymore and Callie has certainly never appreciated that aspect of his history even if she does put up with it.

Ten minutes turn into twenty which tick into forty and then Callie is actually in the bathtub this time staring up at the ceiling. Mark slumps down beside her and breathes heavily. "Think they are gone yet?"

"Why haven't you called me back?" Callie chances. They've only ever been known to fool the people around them, not themselves and she'd like a real answer here, even if she is fully clothed and sitting in a bathtub that costs more than her car.

"I...Callie- I've been busy."

"Ok." She pauses briefly and then decides to dive in head first, "Except you weren't and I know you weren't and I think I deserve an honest answer to at least one question."

He shifts against the tub, popping his back by twisting from side to side, attempting to buy time. Dr. Wyatt told him to be honest, told him to let out his feelings so that the real healing could begin. "I didn't want to."

"Oh."

"I didn't want to talk to you and you don't get to be angry at me for that." Mark sighs, "I feel like...I feel like you don't really care. You care because I care and if I could stop caring I'm not sure you'd notice one way or another...if that makes sense." He scoots away from her, needing the space and wanting to see her face.

"I care."

"You have a funny fucking way of showing it. Slicing your wrists, slapping me, asking me to hit you, painting our lives black, kicking me out of my own apartment- the one I paid rent for without asking me if I would like any of my things. You don't care Callie. You wish you did. You wish you could maybe, I don't know."

"I didn't cut myself-" He steps in but she continues determined to get it all of her chest, "I thought about it, okay? I did. I think everyone does from time to time or maybe I'm a freak or something but I didn't do this on purpose." She raises her arm and pulls down the coppery colored sleeve of her sweater. "And I do care...about you and I've been a shitty person lately. To everyone. I see that. I do get it."

"Ok." He nods slightly, watching her begin to tremble and grapple with the rippling effects of her speech. It's raw and he thinks maybe she wasn't ready but he's not backing out now. He's been waiting and waiting and more recently thinking she was never going to crack.

"I don't know what to do anymore." She eeks, "I don't know...what...how." She gasps, choking a little and then stops herself just letting the tears come down instead. This is the end of the road. She's tried it all and if he doesn't want her after this then, well she may as well move states and spend her entire life running like a coward. "I miss him." She sobs, "I miss him. I miss you. I miss...I just miss it." By the time she reaches the end of the incessant babbling Mark has somehow wedged himself behind her and has his arms wrapped around her waist rocking them both back and forth slowly.

"I miss him too." Mark whispers in her ear, starting a whole new slew of tears. He lightly kisses her neck after sweeping the black curls out of the way and finds that she still tastes very much the same. Surprisingly sweet and light. She may not look the same, act the same or sound the same most of the time but she does taste the same so he lets his lips dance up a little higher toward her ear and then a little lower to her shoulder. Physical healing (or avoidance in the form of sex) is all Mark knows how to do. By the time he has had his fill her breathing is steady and her voice is moaning in a very throaty tone that he used to know so well.

"Sorry." He says softly and then leans back against the cool tub. "I didn't mean...you can keep talking if you want. I'm listening."

Her response does lead to the inappropriate sex in their friend's bathroom as Addison called for nearly two hours ago in a fit of unnecessary outbursts and by the time they leave to go his hotel (ignoring everyone as they grabbed their belongings off of coat racks and counters) the hand that is wrapped around hers isn't there out of any sort of obligation. It's there because Mark wants it to be; because that's where it should have been throughout this whole turbulent flight.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

"You could just try it." Mark sighs exhausted and slumping onto the bed shirtless and more than ready for sleep after his long day. To say that the last two weeks hadn't been stressful for both parties involved would be a flat out lie. Callie has shut down again but intermittently has moments where she is capable of sharing which lends most of their talking time to Mark trying to convince her that therapy isn't going to ruin her soul and that Dr. Wyatt isn't going to judge her in any manner.

"And if I don't like it?" She caves. She could go to appease him and to stop this conversation and then not speak. It's a compromise of sorts.

"Then we can find someone you do like."

"I don't want therapy Mark." She pulls her shirt overhead and begins unfastening the front clasp on her bra while her eyes search through the hamper for a semi-clean tank top to wear. She reset too many bones and took someone's leg at the knee today. She's cranky and in need of support not arguing.

"It will help. Don't you want help?" He doesn't understand. If he could stop the pain then he would. He would take (and is taking) every step necessary to make sure he never feels this way again.

But Callie likes the pain. She needs the reminder to keep from forgetting and the last thing she wants to do is forget about Darren no matter how much she regrets becoming a mother. It's the process she loathed not the actual baby. "It takes time Mark."

"It's been six months Callie." He grabs his book off the end table next to him and flips to the page that's dogeared.

"You think I don't know that?" She snaps and immediately wishes she could take it back. It's so much effort to fight with him and she just can't. She doesn't have it in her to watch him walk away one more time so she'll take the ice treading and tentative mis-steps here and there in place of never having to watch him shut another door in her face.

"No...I just never mind. Let's not talk about it. Come here." She genuinely he opens up his arm for her to curl into his chest and this discussion ends the way most others do.

With an agreement not to talk about things. Because talking leads to discussions, discussions to yelling and yelling feels like ten steps in reverse not forward to Mark. It's better to stand still in time than go back right now.

**_--_**

"Theadora Ellery Shepherd." Derek grins presenting the infant to Mark. They all gave up on the fight when Addison showed up at the hotel deeply apologetic and extremely over emotional. The result was Derek having to come rescue them and some tears that he'd rather not think about ever again. It's over and done.

He takes the newborn, in her pink blanket and striped hat carefully and stares back down at the eyes that are so Addison it stings. It's hard not to think that this Thea thing could have been his and that the groggy redhead in the bed next to him could have been his girlfriend two years ago. He could be in New York with a family. Now he's in Seattle and jealous on more than one level.

"Who picked the name?" Mark questions and all his friend can do is smile and wiggle his head toward Addison.

"It's a strong name." She argues.

"Uh huh." He nods and thanks Callie silently for wanting something more traditional than an oddball name that reminds him of presidents past and celery.

Mark touches a soft patch of dark brown hair sticking out from under the hat before offering her to Callie who, with a deep breath, then declines and opts to grab a seat next to Addison. "I'm sorry if I ever told you you were close and then you still had to push for an hour." She grins.

"You know, I don't think you did." Callie smiles, trying not to remember the way she was stuck in a room a few doors down with one very loud infant and one annoyingly proud boyfriend. She pauses and looks over at Derek who is practically glowing. The new dad look. She gave it to Mark and the world unjustly snatched it right back.

"Good. I'm a good doctor then." She stares pointedly at Dr. Paulick as he backs out of the room with her chart. "That man is a monster."

"He was doing his job honey." Derek interposes.

"I think I know what his job is and shut up we aren't talking still." She nods toward Callie. Between her friend moving back in with Mark and her early maternity leave that involved more than enough History Channel reruns she hasn't seen much of Callie. Which is probably for the best. "He fought with me on the drugs."

"It would have slowed things down even more-"

"But I wouldn't have felt anything so I wouldn't have cared!"

Callie watches as Derek surrenders the sleeping infant back to her mother, in an effort to stop the faux fight, and tries not to make any comparisons. Twenty minutes later she leaves Mark to check on his patients assuring him she is just fine, thank you and nearly sprints out the doors of Seattle Grace Hospital. She never knew she could be so conflicted over a small life that had nothing to do with her problems. Her feet slap the sidewalks and sprint through rows but by the time she reaches the end all she can do is collapse in a pile and replay the entire day her son was born. From Mark's absence to the first cries and his stupid green blanket, it's all there and it's all been stolen so she sits, in a parking lot, beneath the shade of a red SUV's mirror and prays against all odds that no one will find her before she is able to stand and jog the rest of the way home.

She needs time and no one wants to give her any because she's gone and shoved them all away in an attempt to convince the world she was fine. Callie is anything but fine.  
**_  
_**

**_--_**

Addison's jump off the train will be aided by watching her own baby sleep; by knowing that with each passing moment her daughter is still breathing and that she isn't a horrible mother. She take the dive in four months. Miranda will wave goodbye to the crowds when she finds Mark bringing Callie lunch in an on call room in a few weeks after a random breakdown in the clinic. She'll step back from her protective role and let them breathe on their own for awhile before she gets roped back into a less than desirable situation involving a blood draw and cold exam tables. Alex won't leap until after he manages to save an infant brought into the ER after a brutal car crash. The second he hands over the squirming bundle to his still bruised parents so that he can return home to finish his recovery the slate will be wiped clean. He won't notice. Alex Karev never thought he was on a train. He doesn't believe they exist.

Callie will still be pacing the aisles at the one year anniversary. She'll still be lounging in the chairs at the two year mark but she'll get more comfortable there, in her seat, and part of her will never want to take the chance of getting hurt in the fall. Mark, conversely, will be a person that tries to jump too early and he'll get pulled back by Callie's unrelenting hand because for every step in the right direction Mark has taken, there's been one taken to the left that represents Mark and Callie as a couple. It won't stop him from thinking he is ready though and it won't dissuade him from yelling at her when she yanks on his wrist too hard.

Sometimes what's worse then having no one hold your hand in the beginning is having someone who won't let go in the end.

**_--_**

Joke? Yes.

How do you mend a broken jack o' lantern?

With a pumpkin patch.

:)


	11. Razorback drug town

A/N: First off, major apologies for dragging ass on this one. We can point the blame finger at school and the general horrendous state that seems to accompany my personal life. I would love to hear from people though, if you're all out there, even if it's a, "Hey you! Stop fucking with my ship!" sort of thing. Thanks to **escapismrocks** for helping me out through a rough patch.

**_  
--_**  
_Razorback Drug Town_  
**_--_**

It's not something you talk about, the pain. There's no way to explain the raw hurt, no way to let on how badly everything still stings without drawing some seriously concerned crowds who think that medication is needed. There isn't a drug strong enough to take away this kind of anguish. And it's not that Mark and Callie want to run off spouting about how their insides feel like they have exploded like fireworks into smoldering, staining ashes and it's not that they feel the need to shout from the top of the rooftops that sometimes staying in bed really does feel like a better solution than facing the day. It's simply that they want someone to understand. They no longer can seek refuge in one another because Mark telling Callie that he misses his baby boy will only result in her crying and that's the last thing he wants to happen. And Callie telling Mark that she'd like to curl into a ball in the corner and just be lit on fire will only result in him hovering more and those actions are too exhausting for both parties.

So they pick the one option left. Distraction.

Distraction has proven to be one hell of a quick fix in tight situations. Other times it's just flat out ignoring their problems that results in the little pick me ups here and there that really do fool their minds into thinking they are in a better place. Even the small gestures towards one another that make the rest of the world think that they are finally starting to get their acts together can be advantageous, because the general population is done with this. They are done with the tears, done with the breakdowns at work, completely over the fights in inappropriate hallways and they've had enough of the wishy-washy attitude both surgeons give off. Done. They are officially wiping their hands clean of it. That's not an option for the few that are still involved. So they quickly think of ways to find patches for their hearts so that words and actions don't come tumbling and spilling out at inopportune times because if there is one thing Mark and Callie both know, it is that the world is over it. So over it.

They only wish they were too.

**_--_**

"We need a house." Callie states, pulling her old, trusty black sweater overhead. It looks like shit because it's about six sizes too big now but she hasn't gone shopping lately and she couldn't care less. It's cold, rainy and gross outside and she wants the comfort of her old friend from the oblivious days of medical school. If only she knew then what she knows now. Hindsight is a cruel villain.

"We don't need a house Callie, they can just stay with Derek and Addison again." Mark shouts from the bathroom, shirtless with a red toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth as minty fresh foam tries to work its way down his chin.

"Because that turned out so well the first time."

"Who cares how it turns out, we don't have to see them." Mark snaps. He really doesn't want to go through the traditional Shepherd Christmas this year. Even though they are always on their best behavior during Christmas and enjoying their little vacation they are still them and he hates their baggage.

"I told her I would cook dinner Mark. We don't have a kitchen for me to cook in." Callie waves her hands around the room indicating the truth of it all. They could have a hotel room with a kitchen but it seemed rather pointless to Mark who doesn't cook and to Callie who hardly ever eats.

"You don't have to cook. Let Addison take care of it." Mark joins her, teeth now clean and roots around an opened drawer for a clean shirt to throw on. He snags something that looks like it belongs in the eighties with its violent mustard yellow color and fading black print on the front that is no longer legible and tosses it on. Fashion fell off his priority list somewhere around July.

"Can we just do this one thing without Addison having to be involved?" Callie snaps, anger revolting from deep within somewhere.

"What I was saying is that we don't have to be involved at all." Mark wraps his arms around Callie's shrinking waist and buries his head in her neck when it's too heavy to hold up. "Can we not fight today please?"

"Can we get a house?"

"Sure." Mark offers, pulling his head up and kissing her cheek as he tries not to notice how she strains to get away from his lips. They still touch, often times trying to be more sexual than comforting because they don't like to think there is a reason they need comforting.

They're stronger than that.

"Do you care or should I just go buy something?" Callie asks. It seems a silly conversation because buying a house should be a big deal but when you have the money they have it really is something you discuss in the elevator on the way to work.

"Preferably something already furnished so we don't have to waste time picking stuff out." Mark shrugs when Callie looks at him oddly, "They land in seventy-two hours Cal and we both have twenty-two hour shifts today. You think we really have time to go furniture shopping?"

She would generally pout in this situation. That's what old Callie would do but new Callie doesn't seem to care about anything so she bobs her head in approval and makes a mental note to find a real estate agent on her lunch who can makes things happen at lightning fast rates.

**_--_**

"I hate that we are doing this for them." Derek mutters under his breath bracing for impact as he begins to see his string of family trickle down into baggage claim.

"How do you think I feel?" Addison rolls her eyes and clutches her daughter closer to her chest hoping to ward all of the evil off by having a baby next to her heart. It works with vampires or something. She needs to get away from the television and back into the OR. Stat.

"Good point." He kisses her cheek lightly just as Helen swoops down in and nabs, who Derek likes to call, Dora away from his wife. He listens to the cooing and the cuddling and tries to keep track of his nearly two week old daughter while she gets passed from sister to sister. He smirks as his brother-in-laws all pass up the new baby, each of them, decidedly not caring and waits for he knows is coming.

"Where's Mark dear?" There it is. Derek bet good money on it being Nancy who whined first but leave it to his mother to be the annoying one. Fifty bucks for Addison on this payout and he knows it is going straight into his daughter's growing wardrobe. He watches Addison's knowing smile follow the crowd and pretend to be interested in nieces and nephews who clamber for her attention.

"He had a few last minute things to do so-"

"Here you all are. Lucky us." Kathleen finishes for him and grabs Theadora from Madolyn who keeps making funny faces at the sleeping infant. "We shouldn't wonder why your children are so messed up."

"My children are angels compared to your spawns of Satan." Madolyn replies and drops her voice when Helen steps up to the plate.

"Addison, darling, where's my hug?" Helen pushes herself forward into her daughter-in-law's stiff arms and stays a little too long for Addison's comfort. "Your daughter is beautiful."

"Thank you." Addison says weakly and glares at Derek until he whisks his family toward the swirling machinery that should be spitting out hundreds of pounds of luggage any minute now. They're always nicest before they launch from their cages and tear into your skin.

By the time they arrive at Mark and Callie's "new" house the fighting about poor Theadora's name has set in and half of the family is adamantly refusing to call her anything other than Elle. "We're here so shut up!" Derek shouts, twisting the knob on the frosted glass door only to find it unlocked. He leaves his family to search the house and piles as many bags as he can from the trunks of the three cabs pulled in the driveway behind his SUV and doubles his tip for the three drivers who had to put up with heaven knows what during the trip from the airport.

**_--_**

"Callie?" Mark calls rushing through the hallway and throwing open random doors in the upstairs portion of their new house that they just for the first time got to see about twenty minutes ago. He's been downstairs memorizing and realizing that they must have literally thrown the ex-owners out on their asses because when it came down the to wire Callie said she had to shell out a few extra thousand to get the furniture and the place looks completely professionally decorated. Mark's eyes barely trace each room trying to remember what's what so he doesn't look like an idiot when people ask him where their rooms are. He hears the ruckus in his own driveway and seconds later when his hand lands on the door to a bathroom he hears Derek's voice downstairs.

Three rooms and a heart pounding twenty seconds later he finds her sitting in the rocking chair of one very green nursery. Apparently, the owners had young children and enjoyed sea turtle themes more than one person should ever be allowed to. He walks into the room acutely aware of the fact that he feels like he is intruding on someone else's life and tries to reach out for her hand but she yanks it away at the last second. She stares off vacantly as the window pours in light from the cloud covered sky. "Callie, we need to get out of here, they're in our house. There isn't any time to do this right now."

"Mark!" Nancy's shrill voice carries up the light wood stairs that have no carpet runner to cushion the clicks of heels fast approaching.

"Callie, come on." Mark urges grabbing her fingers again. "Calliope Torres!" He demands finally catching her eyes, "This is not our life. This room is nothing to us, you hear me?"

"Found you." Nancy declares triumphantly.

"Nancypants." Mark grins and gives the obligatory hug.

"Oh...I'm sorry, was I interrupting?"

"No." Callie clears her throat and stands, "You're not interrupting. Let's get out of here."

"You know," Nancy laces an arm around Callie's shoulder in fake support as they hike down the spiraling stairs, "For what it's worth I really like the sea idea for a nursery. We did dolphins when we had Abby."

"Thanks." Callie grimaces trying not to recall the little cars that used to zoom around the border of a very important person's room. In this moment she hates dolphins.

"This place is to die for! Mark it's gorgeous!" Karen squeals coming out from the kitchen and joining the rest of the group who has now, minus a few curious children, assembled themselves in what Mark thinks would be called a family room.

"But we all know how much Mark cares about houses, remember his loft in New York?" Kathleen asks, tossing herself down on the plush cream colored couch.

"Filthy." Nancy nods and catches a wayward glance from Madolyn who if Callie can remembers correctly, is the youngest in the bunch aside from Derek.

"It was a disaster." Karen, Kathleen's twin sister, smiles and balances one of her children on her hip. "So all of this must be Callie's doing. I have to say...I never figured you one for...this." She waves at the decor and grins bashfully.

Callie finally takes a real opportunity to look around her. They've only been in the house for about half an hour and most of that was spent lugging boxes of clothes into what they presumed was the master bedroom. Still iffy about other people's furniture Callie went out and bought new sheets and bedding for virtually everything but she was never aware that there was a nursery. Now, as she sees the sage, lavender and cream colors that adorn the vast room with a disturbingly patterned wood flooring she can't help but wrinkle her nose. She may not be in touch with who she was but she knows for a fact that this façade is not her. "It wasn't-"

"I helped...a lot." Addison suggests, throwing the bone out to see if anyone believes her.

"Oh." The room echoes and then falls silent. Somehow that's perfectly acceptable.

"So," Derek claps his hands together a few minutes after everyone has had their fill of quiet mingling and taking pot shots behind each other's backs and yet still very much to their faces, "we're going to take Kathleen, Kyle, Madolyn and Blake and all their kids which leaves you with Mom, Nancy, Adam, Karen, Jackson and all their monsters, ok?"

"You can't separate us for Christmas Derek!" Madolyn immediately interjects, "Besides if you're taking anyone you should take Nancy. At least she still likes you."

"I want to stay with Mark." Nancy interjects, "I haven't seen him in months."

"Hello, none of us have." Karen reminds them all, "I'm staying here. Why don't we all just stay here? It's only fair, I mean we took up every available nook and cranny in Derek's house last time."

As the tension mounts, Callie slips from the ridiculous argument under the pretense of needing a restroom. Once safely secured outside in their - evidently - fenced backyard she pulls a metal case from her back pocket and retrieves a cigarette. Desperate times call for desperate measures. She hasn't done this since high school but on her way home the 7-11 was just too damn good looking to pass up. Now she's thanking her intuition. Her fingers fumble around the cheap, plastic purple lighter and the two seconds it takes to get a good drag feel like they are whipping her with a steel post in the back of the head.

"God, I would kill to be able to smoke." Addison asserts sliding out the back door like James Bond and carefully finding a way to look legitimately busy by pressing poorly named Theadora a little closer to her chest and taking a seat out on the patio furniture.

"You smoke?" Callie questions taking a few more steps away from her out of respect. She hates the smell herself and if the drug wasn't so wonderful she wouldn't bother.

"Only when these people are around," She grins, "I didn't know you did."

"Only around these people."

"Welcome to the family." Addison quickly checks over her shoulder and points to the sleeping baby in her arms like she is the answer to whatever question is silently being posed inside. "I think you are going to get saddled with everyone to which I say good riddance and good luck."

"Thanks, that's helpful."

"You're the one who volunteered to make Christmas dinner." Addison shrugs and keeps her eyes down pretending to admire her surroundings as Callie hides out under a tree blowing little trails of smoke into the already gray sky. It's like riding a bike.

"I didn't volunteer shit. I blame you for making me go to that ridiculous excuse for Thanksgiving. This," she points back at the new house, "is all your fault."

"You can thank me anytime you want." Addison smiles.

"What!" Callie shouts a little too loudly and then rummages around for another cigarette to burn down, heaven only knows when she will be able to get away again. "Thank you-"

"It got you back together with Mark, didn't it?"

Callie scowls and tries to remain calm. It should be comical that a horrible, awful day had to take place to get them back in bed but the problem is the only place they are really together is the bed or the shower or the wall and no one knows that...yet. "Yeah, I'm sure I didn't have anything to do with me."

"I'm taking credit." Addison states and shuffles around to get a look at her smoking friend.

"I liked it better when I hated your guts." Callie quips quickly.

Addison pauses but only for a second before she gives in to what she knows in her heart is the truth, they aren't okay yet and this resentment isn't washing away anytime soon. "Good thing you still do then, huh?" She watches the lack of refusal on Callie's part to refute anything with a heavy heart, "I'm going to head back in now before they kill each other and I suggest that you come out of the "bathroom" soon before Mom thinks you're sick and you get stuck with her hovering. It does get worse, trust me."

**_--_**

"Why are you here?" Dr. Wyatt asks, pressing her pen into the file once more as their time together winds down.

"Because I have to be."

"But you come in and say nothing."

"I'm not compelled to speak." Callie remarks smartly and looks at the yellow fish swimming lazily around the tank.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush here. While I'm not allowed to give away the contents of our meetings I am allowed to suggest to Dr. Webber that it isn't working and that you should find someone else or that he should consider putting you on leave until you are no longer a threat to yourself." She purses her lips as Callie tries to feel out the warning, "Listen, why don't you just tell me something that you did today with our last five minutes and we'll try some different things next week."

Callie wrings her hands together. She's here for her job and as an added bonus Mark has gotten off her back about "healing". Certainly, he'll discover that no progress is being made and jump back on her but for now this is working. Thank god for the temporary reprieve. "I woke up this morning to over twenty people trying to decorate my house for Christmas because I haven't managed to get around to it yet and they wanted the place to be festive for their holiday...my house...their holiday."

"Do you want it to be festive?" Dr. Wyatt carefully selects the same terminology hoping that it will filter in on some subconscious level.

"What do you think?" Callie questions sarcastically.

"I think you didn't like them making your territory "festive" when you feel anything but. I think you don't want to deal with any of it. I think, Dr. Torres, that you would like to forget everything that has happened in the last year, would you say that's a fair assessment?"

The slamming of the office door is the only answer she gets but what they both know is that Callie will never be returning for any future sessions. She's not ready.

**_--_**

At night, after she's released from her seemingly never ending shifts, Callie waits outside their new home, that she secretly hates and that everyone else loves, and watches all the colored light strands in the suburban cul-de-sac twinkle from inside her car. She openly hates, however, that they now live too far away to jog to work without it being suspicious and taking over an hour. She hasn't ran since the Shepherds have been in town and she feels like her head is going to explode. When her feet are pounding the, more often than not wet, pavement it is the only time like she feels anything is being accomplished, it's the only time she can think straight. Now, the weird place that she sleeps is full of strangers who never leave her alone and although they push her to a place where the game of make believe is perfectly fine to play it does leave her weary and tired because soon they'll leave and what she has grown accustomed to will no longer be acceptable. And then it's just her and Mark and a huge fucking house that somehow manages to symbolize how empty and alone they are together.

The taps on her window by none other than Mama Bear Shepherd pull Callie from her reverie minutes later. She rolls down the tinted glass, brain not engaged enough to think that maybe she should just step out of the vehicle and go inside. "Hi."

"You alright?" Helen asks genuinely, her brick exterior completely down for some reason.

Unnerved by the sudden lack of clout that usually surrounds the woman Callie falls into the truth trap, "No."

"Holidays are hard sweetheart, always will be. Why don't you get inside and I'll make you some hot cocoa and you can relax in the tub upstairs or something. The girls are trying to find an ice skating rink to take the kids to tonight but I think I'll stay in and read, you're more than welcome to join me."

Callie ignores the invite to stay in her own house as a "Connecticut" thing and replies, "No, I'm okay. I'm just going to take a minute out here if you don't mind and then I'll be in and I can show them where to go. I know a few places."

"If that's what you want." Helen nods and scoots herself back into the house to arrange the carpooling and begin to prepare dinner for everyone upon their return.

**_--_**

Somewhere between declining to look like an idiot who falls on their ass every ten seconds on the ice and buying hot chocolate for all the kids and adults Callie fell into dangerous territory. She's stuck watching, arms leaning on the edge of the rink wall, eyes glued on Mark who is pulling along a string of kids behind him. There was never a time Callie thought he would make a horrible father, there were times however where she doubted herself as a mother. Day in. Day out. And all the times in between. She doesn't laugh when the littlest one at the end with dark brown braids falls into a heap of ear muffs, scarves and mittens. She doesn't smile when Mark bends down to retrieve her and straightens up his little skating soldiers. All Callie can see is the man she made him become.

Of course, Daddy Mark was always lying dormant somewhere under his rugged exterior but if she could've just kept her mouth shut then she wouldn't know this world and while she'd probably still have her motherly apprehensions she would not- they would not, have this pain. The raw edge that makes everything and everyone equally unimportant and replaces it with nothing but cool air and shallow, petty comebacks would be blissfully absent.

Mark grins as Callie stares off into space, probably deliberately trying to look involved so none of the Shepherd mothers try and rope her into coming out. Smoothly gliding, making sure to keep his blades steady, he scoots his little pile of nine or so closer to his girlfriend. He presses his lips into her soft cheek and then tries to find her eyes. "Whatcha thinking?"

"Nothing." Callie shakes her head and looks down at all the little children. They look related, even for cousins, she can't pick who is whose sibling.

"Ok." Mark smiles warmly, kisses her soundly on the mouth as the eldest in the bunch protest and make faces and then he skates off with a little boy holding onto the end of his coat like it is the reigns to a pony.

He's been genuinely better since his "family" arrived. For as much as he declines enjoying their snarky, annoying behaviors and extremely loud children he loves them and they make him a happier person somehow. They are to him what Callie is supposed to be- bringing out his best, pushing him to excel, not accepting the sullen moods.

He's happy and she resents him for it.

**_--_**

"Callie?" Mark calls out, dipping his head into her new favorite hiding spot, the nursery. He highly doubts that they'll ever bring their own children into this room and he finds it difficult to be in a room that she takes such solace in. Putting his feet on the plush carpet is like nails on a chalkboard, feeling the rocking chair is equivalent to the rustle of popcorn in movie theaters, all he knows is he wants out the second he is in.

She's not sure how they did it but they have made it the last week until D-day without any bloodshed. Sure she's been through almost four packs of cigarettes and she thinks Mark is onto her new hobby but nonetheless they've done it. There was readings of Christmas stories by their large roaring fireplace, hanging of lights, decoration hoisted onto live tree branches that keep dropping their needles all over the place, ice skating, missed dinners, picking up extra shifts so as not to come home and more visits from the other Shepherds than Callie cares to recount. She's had enough and they're still staying until New Years. There may be blood spilled yet. "Hmm?" She hums, her early morning voice still scratchy.

"I was thinking...maybe...I would like to go visit- I want to see him." He stutters. It's Christmas and he should be with his whole family and no matter how hard he tries to pretend that he has been having the time of his life this last seven days he still wants to cry like a little girl and crawl under the covers and hide.

Holidays exacerbate pain. They are the reminders that you can't ignore. They don't let you. Mark can't forget.

"Oh."

"If we go now while they are asleep and then stop at the store or something on the way back I doubt they'll ask questions. Are we out of anything that you can say you need to cook with?" Mark grabs the string of his sweats and cinches it tighter trying not to fidget too obviously. There's nothing like needing to visit a grave at five thirty in the morning on Christmas and there's nothing quite like the dull sadness in the eyes that keep staring back at him. He doesn't care if she says she's getting better, feeling more alive, she doesn't look it when they are alone and he is suspicious of her new favorite game; chain smoking.

"Eggs." Callie replies without thought. They have four left and these people have been eating them out of house and home. Callie's certain that they would fork over some money but it's unnecessary and awkward enough without that conversation. She just dislikes grocery shopping.

"I'll be in the car." Mark nods, leaving her with her demons for a few more minutes and opting not to shower in fear of waking up an anxious child who wants to open presents before they can even walk properly.

**_--_**

Mark clears his throat after twenty minutes of pure silence. Callie's got a death grip on his left hand and he doesn't have to look over to know that the shakes her body is rattling with are caused from quiet cries. His own face isn't dry either but he's certainly holding it together better than her. It's finally his turn to be the strong one and he isn't going to pass it up. "Sorry we haven't been around." Mark starts in a calm voice. He thinks this is what people do. They come and talk or something. That's what Derek always did when they would ride their bikes to the cemetery his dad was buried in. "It's been busy, not that we wouldn't make time for you-" he stops, realizing that there is no need to explain, their son even if alive wouldn't understand anyway. "Merry Christmas little guy. We miss you...and we love you."

He wipes at his cheeks when Callie gets a little too vocal with her aching tears and then carefully steers her away toward the well manicured path. She twists getting free from the hand he has on the small of her back and rushes back, falling knees first into a plot full of white Poinsettias and other crap from visitors. When he gets around to pulling her back up she's got a little bear that someone left. It's got a blue snowflake on its left paw and a vest of silver. He carefully pries the toy from her fingers and places it with care on the ground for his son to watch over and in his head play with. He doesn't know why it works but it does. It's a nice gift and he has no idea who left it but it is a matter of life and death that it stay in the exact location it was before. By the time they reach the car Callie is no longer softly crying. She's full on sobbing, her voice strangled, her throat aching and her antics catching the weary eye of a few patrons. "Please breathe." He reminds her, strapping himself in and then reaching across the car to pull her buckle across her lap.

She sniffles, the weight of the day drawing too heavily on her resolve and nods. Her trembling hand dances up to his, seeking warmth and comfort, if only for a day. Christmas has got to be a freebie. She enjoys that they can be miserable together today. It's the one thing they still have going for them.

**_--_**

"Pass the rolls please." Kathleen requests, wiping the gooey mashed potatoes off of her youngest daughter. At the age of four, Jane thinks that she can handle her own face and smacks her mother's helping hand away starting tirade number 907 from the visiting children. Callie clenches her jaw, about ready to just smack some kids, and tries to smile understandingly. Hopped up on sugar and way too many presents the Shepherd-Moore, Anderson, Shepherd-Kohler and Shepherd-McGregor clans need some serious naps and discipline but they are destined to be wild cavemen who annoy the hell out of everyone over the age of twelve. The best behaved child in the room, surprisingly has been Thea or Dora or Elle or whatever it is they are calling her today- Callie can't remember and doesn't care to keep track. She's mostly just impressed she's learned everyone else's names. That one she can dedicate later.

"Rolls." Derek shouts from the other end of the large table and passes the makeshift basket along slowly. They had to deal with Callie's limited kitchen belongings and whatever Addison brought along with her but for the most part, aside from the nagging and "helping" from the other women, Callie thinks her late lunch/dinner meal turned out pretty good. Nothing is burnt, nothing is undercooked and maybe it's not five star but it's absolutely the best thing she's made in a year.

"So we haven't had a lot of time to talk." Nancy begins, looking toward her mother with some weird signal and then reaches out to squeeze Callie's forearm. "How have you been?"

Callie looks for help, getting nothing from Mark who was separated in the interest of sitting with the rest of the men and having Addison four seats down thoroughly engaged in whatever little Benjamin is telling her about. "Good." She gulps and grabs her fork.

"You've lost weight." Kathleen chimes in on the other side of Callie who was appointed the head of the table for some reason. She thinks it's because they all wanted to stare her down without having to wiggle in their seats too much.

"Baby weight." Callie nods and hopes they accept it.

"Oh," Madolyn sighs, "we just never figured you were really thin before. I mean not that we thought you were fat, you just- you look ethnic and sometimes those type of people-"

"Stop talking." Helen warns as her daughter back peddles hastily, "Honey we just meant you don't look healthy and I know none of us knew you before Thanksgiving but I-we find it hard to believe that you looked like this."

"Well Mark does have a certain type." Karen chimes in, reaching out for more of the scary casserole Derek brought in with his twenty pounds of baby shit hours ago.

"True." Kathleen ponders, "But who knows, maybe he-"

Callie looks around uncertainly. She's never had too much affiliation or pride for her "ethnic" background and often it was the source of much of her teenage heartache but these people seem to go above and beyond to embarrass themselves and then look innocent leaving their victims to plead for mercy.

"Let's just- did you look like Addison?" Madolyn asks and then clarifies, "Well, not Addie right now but before the baby."

Addison looks up at the sound of her name and catches the end of a very odd sentence. She and Callie look nothing alike. "What?"

Callie's eyes flash upwards, praying for someone to save her. This is why she's been hiding at work and she's about three seconds from blowing a gasket on these people. "No."

"No what?" Addison asks.

"No I wasn't thin like you- of course not you right now because apparently your size eight, week three post baby body isn't thin enough for them but you- before Thea."

Addison wrinkles her forehead in confusion, "I don't-"

"Forget it." Callie stops her. "I wasn't fat okay? I wasn't the smallest girl on the block like you Nancy or even Addison but I wasn't fat and I am fine. I like the way I look and I'm healthy." Her voice raises attracting the attention of Mark who tunes in to hear something about Callie not thinking she's too thin.

"Don't get defensive sweetheart, we mean well." Helen states in a motherly tone and gives Callie and quick pat on the shoulder, "You're part of the family. We take care of family."

Callie opens her mouth about to ask how she can get a one way ticket out of this wacky bunch but Mark beats her to the punch, "I asked you not to say anything."

"Mark, darling, we respect your wishes but really it was just friendly conversation-"

"You talk to them about me!" Callie yells just loud enough so that he and everyone on her side of table can hear.

"I didn't-"

"You did." Kathleen nods enjoying the building fury. Sometimes things need to burn before they can settle.

"Me too." Nancy interrupts, "But you don't hear me blabbing on about how you think Callie should be on antidepressants do you? God, you have such a fat mouth Madolyn."

"I didn't mean- I didn't think it was a big deal." Madolyn's eyes water involuntarily. She isn't the crybaby of the group for nothing.

"Apparently it was." Karen chuckles. She's never been one to be easily offended and this is just the way they work. The share and talk and resolve things. It's easier to acclimate to the system than to fight it.

Addison stretches in her chair, causing it to squeak and halt conversation entirely. She gets up, with her ostensibly fat ass in tow, to find her daughter whose screams couldn't have come at a better time. Soon Derek will be behind her making amends for his sisters but she doesn't want to hear it. To get back in the inner circle she must be punished and suffer accordingly. It's just another slap and soon the tingling of pain in her chest will drift away.

Callie stands with all eyes on her and tries to remain completely calm. She gave them everything she had this week. She gave them a home, she let them in her world and this is what she gets repaid with. No wonder Mark's been doing better, he has had people to conspire with. "I would appreciate it if you would all stay with Derek for the remainder of your trip."

"Callie-" Mark objects, standing abruptly, his chair skidding across the wood flooring.

"And you can stay on the couch." She cuts him off and leaves the room to go empty her stomach. These people ruin her appetite for life and nourishment. "Excuse me."

She passes by Addison in the living room who once again tries to apologize for the people who treat her like crap and it makes Callie's blood boil. She didn't even know she could still feel like this over anything other than her personal hell. "Why do you put up with them?"

"I love Derek. It's a package deal." She smiles weakly, "They really aren't that bad. It takes awhile."

"And then what? I'll be one of the people going along with their set up interrogations? No thanks."

"They'll come around."

"Well, forgive me if I don't care." Callie wanders toward the stairs and pauses as Addison bounces her daughter up and down. She remembers those days and she remembers treating the woman in front of her just like the people in the dining room if not worse. Trying to reconcile is difficult and while she may never completely forgive Addison for being involved in the situation no matter how much she did or did not have to do with anything, she needs to at least move past it. She needs to move past something because this is exhausting. Callie tangles her fingers together pensively, "For what it's worth I think you look amazing. Mom is a good shade on you."

Addison tries not to tear up at the sentiment and subtle reminder from someone who isn't her husband and thereby isn't obligated to say all the right things, "Thanks Cal." She's not going to remark how Callie is beginning to look like a skeleton. That's not what she needs and the ice she's skating is thin enough without turning a heater on.

**_--_**

Callie rolls up the sleeve of her long blue sleeved shirt that resides under her pale blue scrubs. She'll be an attending sooner of later, that is if this hospital still wants her for her fellowship, and then the dark blue she used to admire will come but for now this is good enough.

The superficial wounds the Shepherds inflicted days ago have healed and she knows she'll have to see them before they leave in three days and will end up apologizing for her rude behavior even if she's not sorry but asking them to leave was the best idea she's had in months. This, on the other hand, trying to draw her own blood, is not a good idea. She squirms around looking for a needle and setting it on the tray. Once she's settled, her nerves in check, she searches for a viable source. Just as she reaches out to disinfect the area she hears a door click open.

"Callie?" Miranda Bailey stands mesmerized. She thought, well she didn't think anything warranting a medical procedure was why she was paged into this room and from the surprised look on Callie's face she wasn't the one who did the paging. In hindsight she should have figured. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Callie rolls her eyes, attitude full on board today.

"Trying to draw your own blood like an idiot."

"You could help." Callie retorts with equal fervor.

"First you tell me what is going on." Miranda's hands find her hips just as Callie reaches for the needle. She steps in, removing the object and setting it down before grabbing some gloves and yanking them on. "This is nurse's work or even an intern so you better start talking because I don't waste my lunch for nothing."

Callie kicks her dangling legs out and lets them swing around for a second before inhaling deeply and admitting life's newest problem, "I think I'm pregnant."

**_--_**

Sometimes those quick fixes, like sex, can come back to bite you in the ass. Other times, like when immersing yourself in pools of humans you think are scum, those little patches only serve to further hinder any progress and happiness. For Callie they don't work. Reality repeatedly slaps her in the face whenever she attempts to make a go of having a good day, whether it be with a very sick patient or with a little reminder of how low she should be feeling in that particular hour. For Mark they are like magic. Distraction and all of its buddies allow Mark to pretend that things are a-ok and that life is definitely worth living. Having people around makes him feel like getting out of bed in the morning and knowing there's a reason to go home helps him make it through the boring reconstruction surgeries. With his new illusions Mark is able to avoid his problems and push them off to another time, for Callie they are simply just another demonstration of how she fails at life.

However, there is one constant. The pain grounds them from flying away whether or not they choose to actively think about it. Mark's feet are tethered to the dock the same way Callie's are. The thing is he thinks he is flying in the rain clouds above and Callie thinks she's drowning in the bay below.

**_--_**

And everyone's favorite part- joke time!

What do you call a cow who's lost a child?-Decaffeinated.


	12. The air between us

A/N: I don't have nearly a good enough reason for updating this but let's just say that going to the scary place it takes to write this wasn't conducive to my current state of affairs. But it's Sunday and I'm back. After I forage for food I will catch typos. I hope you all can remember what's been happening. Enjoy-

**_--  
The Air Between Us  
--_**

Sometimes it's hard to pull out of the funk of depression and self loathing for a second to realize that though you may despise it, good things are still very much happening around you. Occasionally, what's more difficult than that recognition is joining in on the party. In a hospital you are surrounded by death and serious illnesses far more than normal people and doctors, being their own special breed, usually have a special way of dealing with that unfavorable work byproduct. Unfortunately, for Callie and Mark it takes a pretty off day for them to lose a patient on the table or in an exam room.

A patient, that solely is their responsibility. People don't often die from a fractured tibia, though Callie has seen stranger, and it can be particularly affecting if she misses something or there was a bigger problem the entire time she was trying to force pins in and realign bones. Freak accidents during plastic surgery operations are usually scandalous and rock the greater outlying city but it's not something that Mark happens to run into everyday. Certainly, the fact that he is good at his job aides in this but it doesn't stop him from thanking the heavens every time he hears a horror story about some patient who up and died on the table for no reason.

Mark fixes what's on the outside to heal what's happening on the inside and Callie puts the odd angles and broken bones back to normal so people can have their old lives once again. Their jobs may seem minuscule in comparison but they both take a great amount of pride in being able to help and finesse areas where other surgeons rarely have the patience. The problem is, since their patients aren't dying left and right from aneurysms and hemorrhages, they rarely celebrate the successes. Instead they dwell on the failures. They sit in on call rooms and think about little Davey who Callie thought would be hobbling out of this place on crutches and instead died fifteen minutes after anesthesia took hold and they ponder the realities of Jason not being able to show off his new, perfectly sculpted abs.

It's the ones you can't save that stick with you. They're the ones that you can readily recall from memory. Ridiculous stats woven into the minds of the few elite. Mark, having been in the game much longer than his housemate has better methods. Shut himself down, run, blame others, justify, neutralize. Anything that works is his go-to solution. Callie blames herself and then systematically runs down everything that went wrong, why and when until she knows. And then the mistake won't happen again. She can live with it like that.

Darren's death wasn't a mistake. It wasn't an accident. Disastrous, but not anything that could be corrected. There's nothing to hide under or solve for either parent. So when the defense mechanisms don't even apply life gets a little tougher and somehow when people are laughing in the hallway and celebrating Mr. Jacobs and his new heart it makes them angry. It's difficult to want to share lunch with other people and even harder to schedule themselves for a night away from home because getting through each day, surrounded by all of the joy, is so insanely exhausting that they just want to wallow in a hole and be left alone.

In some ways the good times are harder than bad times.

**_--_**

"Lab is all backed up. Flu season." Miranda sighs, returning to the exam room where Callie is eying the instruments too closely for her liking.

"Wonderful." Callie mutters and kicks her legs out from the table again.

"Did you take-"

"No. I wanted to know for sure. None of this peeing on a stick bullshit." That's what she did the first time. Seven times more accurately. Just to be sure...and then she threw up on the hotel carpet completely terrified.

"Ok." Miranda fiddles with her pager, uncharacteristically nervous and waits for something to happen so she can leave.

"I couldn't. Could I...I shouldn't. It's too soon." Callie shakes her head, internal monologue and debate spilling out into the warm room where it does not belong. "You think, if I am, should I...do I...can I-not keep...I couldn't-" She drifts off, not finishing out loud.

Miranda pulls out the little stool on wheels and plops down knowing that this could take a while and Callie shouldn't be left alone. "I can't tell you what to do."

"I don't want anymore kids." Callie states with a horrifyingly disgusted look on her face. Sure there was too much sex, but it was the only time they were really connecting as a "couple" and Callie never thought it would lead her here. She didn't consider the consequences, per her usual mode of thinking. Then again, looking at their track record she really should have suspected something. "I wanted...I asked Addison if she would operate, this is her fault! I don't want another child." She wants her son back and in lieu of that never happening she's perfectly happy to never tread down that road ever again.

"Callie-"

"I have to get back to work. Page me." She stands abruptly, cutting the shorter woman off and nearly dashes from the room.

**_--_**

She knows she's gonna lose it. She feels the very edge her feet are toeing with each new step placed down the hallway. She hits the stairwell like a ton of bricks and immediately begins sprinting upward. Legs pumping, chest burning with wonderfulness, arms inadvertently getting whacked by the railings. She passes confused nurses and doctors not caring for one second that someone might report her for being a freak again. Really, she stopped therapy sessions a week ago, Richard is bound to be on her ass soon anyway.

She slams into the door to the roof, dragging in a long breath. Then there's suddenly nowhere to go short of leaping off the side and it's wholly unsatisfying. She watches the heavy rain for a second under the cover of an eave, feeling the tension begin to work back into her neck and stomach. The drops assault the roof, collecting in small puddles where the terrain isn't level. She wants to step out into it and feel everything wash away. She wants to be clean of this plaguing feeling of utter despair.

Callie wants to want to be happy. She's just not. And she doesn't know how to fix that.

**_--_**

She pokes at the ham sandwich in front of her uninterested. It's been two hours and there's nothing surgical to get in on, short of suspiciously asking to hang with the cardio gods or neuro saviors. There's a table in the corner of the cafeteria that she's basically commandeered, one that no one dares to screw with, at least not in the last seven months. Today, however, she is joined by her whatever he is- Mark.

"Hey." She slouches into the chair.

"Talking to me today, I see." Mark unwraps his pastrami sandwich from the deli down on the corner, the watery mess in his hair proving he did his own dirty work today, as he does often now because the people at the hospital just have a way of getting under his skin and pissing him off with a simple look.

In a way the catastrophe has helped him grow into an adult. Most days, at least.

Callie rolls her eyes and tears the chip bag on her tray open, shaking a few out in a silent offering to share. They used to share food all the time. "I'm over it."

"Over it?" Mark clears his throat and props his elbows up onto the table.

"The Christmas fiasco...you don't need to stay at the hospital anymore. You can come...home." It took her about two days to decide that those "people" weren't worth the shoes they pranced around in and after that it was merely a waiting game. Three more days and counting and then hopefully she will never hear from them again, not if she can help it.

"Callie, I wasn't saying any of that stuff to hurt you. I need you to understand that Nancy and I-" he's cut off by his pager, "Damn it."

She glances at her watch for the hundredth time, convinced it is actually moving backwards, and then looks briefly back up at him as he gathers his things and silences the steadily beeping beast. What she doesn't expect is his lips finding her temple, so soft and so sure that against her skin is right where they want to be, that it takes every ounce of strength not to burst into the firework like tears that she has been managing to keep at bay all day.

"I'll see you after work." He explains, the words having a far greater meaning than any of the nosy nurses could guess. For most couples that would be a habitual rushed goodbye- for Mark and Callie it was the closest they have been to normal in months, especially as a unit.

"Yeah." She manages wearily before stuffing a handful of his chips into her mouth to distract her from the need to cry. She chews thoughtfully and decides she hates the Shepherds far more than she initially believed. She hates that they talk to him, she hates that he talks to them, and mostly she hates that such horrible people can put Mark in such a great mood. That should be her job.

She used to make him happy all the time. With a smile, a funny face or a ridiculous joke. Now all she does is make him angry and worried. Yes, the Shepherds need to leave immediately.

**_--_**

Mark zooms around the hall with his head full of Callie's sweetly scented hair, his mind wrestling with how to convey his concerns and why he took confidence in the people he did. No part of that mind, that highly skilled brain of his is watching where he is going or how quickly he is speeding down the tile. He grabs a blue chart from the offered hand in front of him, not noting the face attached, and peers down at the scribbling. Male, 47, with an interesting burn pattern across his face. At least it will be entertaining. One should never press a waffle makers to their cheeks.

Regrettably, before he can greet Larry Sanders he runs straight into Miranda Bailey, effectively scattering their papers and causing her short stature to collide directly into his chest without him even noticing. "Sorry Dr. Bailey."

"No, my fault." Miranda reaches the ground first looking desperately for Callie's lab results before fate can fuck with her day, and leaving it to chance is not an option.

Mark grabs his chart and in a friendly effort picks up the papers scattered by his shoes. He forks them over without lingering and then checks to make sure he has the right file in his own hands. "This one is yours I assume."

Miranda straightens the hem of her shirt and prays God is on her side today. James Olivander. Excellent. "Thank you."

"If you see Callie will you tell her to page me?" He asks and smiles knowingly down at the pile of papers in her arms.

Miranda clears her throat unsure and then hands off half of the stack to poor George who has been standing beside them ever since his feet managed to catch up to her quick trot. She decides it's best left unsaid and nods, hopeful that maybe he didn't see anything and was just putting out a call to everyone. "Will do. Anything else you need Dr. Sloan?"

"I'll take the intern off your hands. Want get some grafting time in O'Malley?"

"S-sure." George looks to his superior for salvation but upon getting nothing he merely turns heel and tags along behind a man who has hated him since day one.

"Dr. O'Malley this is Mr.-", Mark trails off briefly looking at the chart again, "Sanders. Larry this is my intern. He's going to be helping us out today." Mark winks and pulls up a chair next to the patient's bed to see what exactly has been done and by which incompetent fool. "So what exactly happened here Larry?"

"I was just screwing around and I got burnt. It's not that bad, it doesn't feel that bad." He answers reaching a hand up that Mark immediately bats down.

"That's because you are drugged. Trust me, it hurts. Let's try the truth this time. Help me help you."

Larry shakes his head, his story is one of utter embarrassment, "I was fighting with my wife..."

"And she threw a hot...skillet at your head?" George jumps in and then trails off when Mark glares at him.

"She was making waffles for the kids before school...it was the closest thing to her hands I guess."

"She threw a waffle maker at you?" George squeaks.

"Interns." Mark grunts, "They think everything is the first time something has happened."

"You've seen this before?" Larry ventures.

"More than once." Mark nods. In truth he's never seen it like this. He's seen random things thrown at people and he's helped more crispy faces than he can remember but at this point it doesn't matter.

"O'Malley why don't you get Mr. Sanders set up while I go check on his labs again. All backed up there today."

"Yes sir." George reaches for a pair of gloves but before he can get the first one on he is being drug from the room. "Dr. Sloan?"

"What's wrong with Callie?"

"I don't...what are you talking about?" George asks, looking down the hall, making sure to keep his voice down.

"You were with - what is wrong?" Mark can feel his heart racing and his chest pounding. All he saw was a name, it could be anything. He tries not to jump to conclusions but really it is hard not to take the worst possible scenario, especially given the hell hole his life has become. In all honesty, he's not even sure he wants to know. Callie would probably keep it from him to avoid talking and then he would never have to know, never have to wonder, never deal with any of it and lately he kind of needs that. But it is too late and he can't undo what his eyes saw.

"Nothing. I don't know."

"Has she said anything to you?"

"She doesn't talk to me." George clarifies instantly. He can't even finish the sentence before Mark is gone down the hall presumably to harass and scare the living hell out of the poor lab tech who is so busy he hasn't been able to tie his left shoe since it came undone hours ago. He hears the squeaks of his shoes as he begins to move again, trying all the while to remind himself that it is none of his business any longer.

**_--_**

He's made the rounds. Lab guy stating that the morals and ethics of the surgery program might waver but his do not, George still sure that he knows nothing even with the threat of Mark's hands around his throat, Miranda literally running out of his path, and now he is here. Here with the stupid Shepherds and their sleeping infant in the cafeteria.

"Well hello Mark." Addison grins as he slips into the chair next to Derek and slumps onto the table, head encased by his arms, mouth muffled by his lab coat.

"Yes, Mark. Thank you for interrupting my lunch."

"What's wrong with Callie?"

Derek covers his mouth before he can laugh and Addison merely glares at her husband.

"Not funny." His fist connects with Derek's shoulder harder than he intended but he'll be damned if it didn't feel great. He listens to his friend squeal in pain and then rub the spot for ten seconds for before even thinking about retaliation.

"Mark-"

"You're her doctor."

"Was." Addison clarifies immediately. "I'm on leave." And...she's not going there again. She's officially off the case.

"Did she call you or anything? Why are you here?" Mark asks, pointedly ignoring Derek.

"Having lunch, well really an early dinner." Addison looks at her watch. "Derek's not off until ten and he wanted to see Theadora." She leaves the real reason out. Escaping her house of visitors and saving herself from another round of badgering or explanation on how she is doing everything all wrong with her daughter.

Mark finally sees the baby and remembers what exactly is happening and how awkward this should be given the lack of alcohol in his system. "Oh."

"You going to come over before Mom leaves?" Derek questions, genuinely disinterested, but asking for the sake of his family that still for some reason loves this guy.

"Probably."

"They fly out on Saturday." Addison jumps in when they enter an odd staring contest. "And Mark, why don't you just try asking Callie what's wrong?" It's the most logical solution, however, not the one most likely to work.

Mark leaves the table without another word, fully understanding just how much he was in the way, and then stamps off to hunt down the secret posse of residents. Someone must know something. He finds them scattered in the clinic, enjoying snacks that only vending machines can supply, most not even expired. "You four." He growls and grabs the attention of the women, Karev still too engrossed in his newspaper to look up. "Come with me."

"This better be good." Izzie whispers to the group as they tag along, following Mark into the parking lot.

"Is someone like dead in their car, because I don't move bodies." Cristina chimes in, receiving no reply. They walk and walk the rows of cars until they arrive at the street.

"Field trip to Joe's?" Meredith questions gleefully. She could use a day of drinking after seeing her ex and his ex with their new McBaby for the first time.

"He's freaking out." Izzie whispers as they reach the stoplight and Mark crosses the road heading to Meredith's favorite local watering hole. "Are we...can we-"

"I'm going back. I have a surgery to scrub in on, screw the treasure hunt." Cristina mutters and suddenly sprints back across the intersection.

"Her loss." Mark states plainly and holds the door open for the remaining three. He leads them to the bar and then takes a stool.

"Dude-"

"Shut up," Mark cuts Alex off, "Now here's the deal. I'll pay off whichever one of yous tab that can tell me what is wrong with Callie. And!" He shouts when they start clambering together, "Whatever you can rack up in the next three months."

"Seriously?" Meredith looks around at the mostly empty bar.

"Seriously." Mark nods. "So?" He watches them confer and scrounge their brains for information.

"I saw her with Dr. Bailey." Alex speaks up, "This morning, they were coming out of a trauma room."

"Not helpful." Mark retorts and looks at the other two when he shrugs.

"We don't know," Meredith smiles, "But I bet we can find out."

"Oh really, you think so Dr. Grey?"

"Yes." Izzie confirms and steals a sip of the water Joe placed on the counter for someone to grab.

"Fine. You have three hours. Page me." Mark leaves them behind to figure out his situation with the knowledge that they are going to tear the damn hospital apart going about their business. At least it will be an interesting afternoon.

"Well Bailey isn't going to tell us anything." Izzie assesses.

"I call lab guy!" Meredith screams and rushes for the door.

"Based on the assumption that she had anything done," Alex sighs, "I'm out."

"Alex-"

"No." He answers and heads away. He's had all he can handle of being involved in Mark and Callie's lives. He won't get tangled in it again. Leaving it to the stupidest ones is really the best option. They don't comprehend what they are doing. Not yet anyway.

**_--_**

Callie swishes the almost warm soda through her teeth and tries to focus on the tingling sensation of carbonation on her tongue. It nearly works but four seconds later her head is in her hands, her tears drenching everything in their quest to be down pulled by gravity. She made it substantially longer than she thought she would given the enormity of the situation. So she merely tugs on her long white sleeves and wraps them around her balled fists hoping that no one walks into the resident's lounge and if they do they turn around and walk right back out because she can't stop and she can't move.

All she can do is cry until she feels like screaming and silently screech until she feels like collapsing from exhaustion. Her eyes are starting to swell and she's nearly choking on all the mucus she's conjured up in the last god knows how long but she keeps going, going until there's nothing left. Until her body refuses to produce more wetness, until her throat aches in agony.

When the pounding in her skull begins to set in she knows it is time to reign it in. With a few ragged breaths she calms herself and sits upright but in the process drags her knees up to her chest too, giving away how upset she still is. There's no bothering to wipe away the wetness of snot and tears, no attempt to get the hair out of her eyes, she just wants to couch to swallow her whole.

She's not sure she could handle another child, handle all the crazy emotions that come with the experience and furthermore she doesn't want to forget or replace anything with something else. That wouldn't be fair to anyone. Callie tells herself she's an idiot and then goes back to anger, snuggling deeper into the cushions, because anger is easy and she needs easy.

The throat being cleared on the other side of the room does not belong to the throat she wants to see so instead she looks up at Mark unimpressed and then looks back down at her blue crocs. He stands and stares for what must be a good fifteen minutes and then manages to take a seat about as far away as he can get. He doesn't reach out for her hand and he doesn't rub her back like he would have used to, because Mark has learned his lesson. And his lesson is to be afraid, be very afraid.

"What's wrong with you?" He asks viciously, deciding not to care because it works so very well for her, because she can't manage to come to him for anything anymore and there is definitely something going on. Something that she'd rather discuss with Miranda Bailey.

"Nothing." She replies, nothing extraordinary anyway. Just par for the course in her world, this is.

And just like that the happy couple from earlier is gone and he's angry again and she's shut down and it is so, so much easier to live this way. To tread the turmoil and rage through the rapids of depression. She sees no point in trying to be happy when he's not, no point in giving anything to the situation when he's already frustrated.

Callie doesn't fix Mark. She makes him worse and for the first time she's completely aware and alive and feeling every ounce of guilt that comes with knowing what she's put him through; what she's put everyone through.

And there's no good way to say this for them. She can't buy him a new "World's Best Daddy" coffee mug because she smashed his up against the side of their old dumpster and she can't go out and find a cute way to get them together over a nice dinner overlooking a harbor so she can tell him he's about to be a dad...again. "I think I'm pregnant." She blurts out instantly. Releasing the beast from it's cage. Holding her breath until he says something or moves.

When she finds the balls to look over at him he's smiling. Just like the first time she told him that. Except then she was certain and terrified that he was going to ruin them. She ruined them this time and yet oddly it's the same reaction. "Say something please."

"You're pregnant." He whispers. Those were not the words he was thinking of. Cancer, tumor, alien abduction. All were more likely than this but it feels good. He feels warm and at peace for a moment. "Wow."

"Yeah." Callie nearly chokes. She made him happy. Briefly, and he's Mark so the reality hasn't sunk in but my god what she would pay to see his face look like this everyday. To wake up and have him this light instead of tiptoeing by her to grab his running shoes. "Well, maybe. I-Bailey...we have to wait."

"Right." Mark stands. On his way to the door he get struck by the sudden need for human intimacy, the likes of which their post coital routine has not allowed recently. Pulling Callie up off the couch he wraps her tightly in his arms and squeezes until her toes can barely touch the ground. She's flabbergasted and not responding but he doesn't care. It feels so great to have something in his arms again that it doesn't matter.

Doesn't matter so much that he doesn't notice the tears lingering in her eyes again as he leaves the room, feet nearly bouncing along their path, a small grin plastered to his cheeks.

Never has Callie wanted to be pregnant so badly in her life than in this moment.

**_--_**

"Oh Dr. Torres, there you are. Can I- I need you for a quick consult, if you have the time, I'd appreciate it." Bailey yammers on, looking at her pager pretending to be busy.

"Sure, I'll be right in. I just need to finish this." Callie smiles and glances around at all the nurses. They watch her day in and day out waiting for another explosion. It's coming. Everyone knows it.

"Thanks." Miranda murmurs and then saunters around the hall, Callie's lab work secured in her hands.

Ten minutes later Callie finds the fake patient room and refuses to take a seat, sticking her hand out in the air for the results. It's time. Her eyes scan the type and come to a screeching halt.

Not pregnant. She gulps. "Thanks Miranda."

She decides to linger around after her superior gives her an odd look and then walks out freely. She's done. Hands washed clean. Callie only wishes she was that lucky. Now comes the fun part, tracking down Mark and telling him the "wonderful" news. She knew better than to open her mouth. The tests hit the trash can with a unsatisfying woosh.

She doesn't see Meredith and Izzie sneak in after her because she can hardly keep her eyes steady enough to see the ground.

**_--_**

"I need to talk to you." Callie whispers into Mark's ear interrupting him from filling out the rest of Mr. Sanders' post-op chart. It went smoothly. There will be minimal scarring. Mark doesn't care. He won't remember Mr. Sanders in the morning.

"And?" Mark questions as they walk down the hall, Callie intent on finding a private space. All she can find is her secret cubbyhole where she used to think about slicing her veins open. It will have to work. The door creaks as they step in and Callie buries herself as far back as she can get, as far away from Mark as possible.

"Callie, come on. You're pregnant right? I mean, you have been sick and stuff. You need to stop smoking- Cal?"

"Yeah?" She looks up and his face is still the same stupid smirk from earlier.

"Yeah? Yes?" Mark asks for clarification. All he sees is Callie move her head before he rushes in and kisses her fully. "How far along are you? When is the next appointment?"

He rambles on and on until Callie feels the knot in her stomach break and before she can stop herself, she doubles over and vomits all over both of their shoes. Stress is an underrated thing. She feels his hands this time, warm and comforting on her lower back as she tries to get some bearing on the moment. Did she really just lie to him? This has disaster written all over it. She heaves again, surprised he doesn't chastise her for ruining his expensive shoes , and then stands herself upright and nods when he murmurs something about not remembering morning sickness because she didn't bother to tell him until that stage had passed last time.

"You're happy." She says weakly, sweat beginning to form. Sweet Jesus she really thought she was pregnant...and now faced with the outcome she wanted it's all so much worse.

"I am." He acknowledges. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know how long it will last but the prospect of getting a do over is enough to leave him complacent. "You're off-"

"Seven."

"I'll go to the store and pick up some crackers or something. Does that really work?"

She nods. In theory it would work. In reality it's not going to make a damn bit of difference.

**_--_**

"Dr. Sloan?" Meredith screams, trailing after both him and Callie as they round the hallway. "Dr. Sloan!"

She nearly runs into Callie as she finally catches up, her shoes squeaking in protest of the hasty stop.

"Yes Dr. Grey?"

"I've got something I need you to look at." Meredith tries to wink slyly and then gives up as Callie watches her unamused.

"Can it wait Dr. Grey?" Mark sticks a hand in his pocket trying to send her subliminal messages to knock it off.

"No, sir, it will only take a minute."

"Fine." He agrees and bids Callie, who has never been more thankful for Meredith Grey in her life, a goodbye.

"Dr. Grey-"

"No, I know. We know. Izzie...she had to go, Bailey needed her but I know. I know what's wrong with Callie."

"So do I. Now scamper off."

"You know Callie isn't-"

He begins at the same time, "Is pregnant yeah, now shut your mouth about it, I don't think she wants anyone to know yet." He thinks this is how these things work. Callie didn't even tell the Chief until she was six months and obviously showing last time. He likes that he has a cheat sheet to work off of. Ice cream is good at two in the morning, tacos are not. Foot massages are always appreciated, poking her stomach is not. Talking to the baby is good, singing to the baby in his cartoon voice is not.

He can do it this time. He positive.

"No, Dr. Sloan-"

"Grey. I'm done. And I'm not buying you alcohol since I found out first so go find someone else to scrounge off of."

"Mark there's something..." Meredith trails off as he disappears. "Crap."

**_--_**

"I want pictures and updates, you understand me?" Helen Shepherd asks her pseudo son and his love. "None of this pretending you don't know us anymore. We're family now." She hugs Callie tightly as they get ready to head inside the airport. "Take good care of this one." She whispers and for a moment Callie thinks she is talking about Mark, "I want to see pictures of my new grand baby this time. As soon as you get them. Sonograms and everything." Helen clears her throat and talks a little louder, "Addison will give you my email address."

Addison nods and fixes herself on trying to figure out who has her daughter now because Derek is clearly not paying listening and Kathleen has all of his attention. She hates how her husband turns into a petulant child around these people.

Mark is too busy giving all the kids hugs goodbye and promising Madolyn that Callie doesn't hate her for saying she was/wasn't fat enough to notice the death glare he is receiving. Once they're safely whisked away, baggage and all, the remaining three Shepherds and Mark and Callie retreat back to find their cars.

"Are you okay?" Addison says softly, linking her arm into Callie's and making sure the boys are a few paces ahead. "Mark told me. Well, Mark told Helen who told Nancy...and you know."

"Apparently Mark has told everyone." Is all Callie can retort, feeling the burn of her friend's limb touching her own.

"He's excited Cal, don't get angry. He hasn't been this happy in a long time. Oh...I meant- never mind."

"I know." Callie reminds her bitterly.

"You're excited too right?"

"Sure." Callie pulls her arm free in the name of pulling her coat tighter and then shoves her hands in her pockets.

"And you wanted me to tie your tubes." Addison scoffs, "Look at what happened. This is a good thing."

"Yeah."

"It's okay to be happy sometimes. It doesn't mean you're over it."

And Callie can't help but think Addison doesn't have a leg to stand on in this conversation but she nods numbly and stays silent until they reach their destination. She hugs them both goodbye and even gives Thea the once over before hopping into the car and making dinner plans with Mark. She'll yell at him later.

For right now they are functioning and "happy" and she'll take all she can get because it's too easy to remember all the bad and this must be cherished.

**_--_**

"Baby? You in there?" Mark asks, softly knocking on the door of their master bathroom. She disappeared after dinner and hasn't yet returned.

"Yeah, hang on." She splashes her face with water and tugs on her eyelids a little to make them red and stingy. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Mark smiles and reaches a hand out to touch her stomach, "It hates food."

"Evidently." Callie replies and ties her black lounge pants a little tighter, in order to get him off of her empty womb. It gets harder and harder every second and he's so over the moon that she just can't. It's not even a choice anymore.

"You want anything?" He asks. There is something else to focus on. Something to look forward to and Mark thinks this is just the push he needed to get over it all. There comes a time for everything and he's ready. So ready.

"Just you." Callie whispers seductively. Her only hope is to have so much god damn sex that her body can't do anything but concede and give way to the lie. She reaches out for his belt loops and drags him into the bathroom where the shower is already running in preparation. It took him a little longer than she suspected so the water is well on its way to cold but she can work with it. She's quick sometimes.

"Whoa, whoa...you just. Maybe we should lay down instead." Mark bats her hands away and tries to tell his mind to let go of the idea of sex again today. "You need a break."

"No break." Callie insists.

"Callie you just purged your entire dinner. I don't think that a bunch of hot steam and physical exertion is really the best idea right now."

"I like steam." She teases and pulls her shirt overhead. She ignores her significantly smaller frame in the mirror, refusing to notice that her stomach is now defined instead of the sexy womanliness that he used to love. She's lost at least a cup size in the process as well but it's worth it. Weary, however, of what's going to happen when he stops her jogging. And when he still finds out that she smokes on every break she can get. And you know, when he finds out that there is really no baby to be thankful for.

Yes, several things are just waiting in the wings but it's alright for now.

"I'm going to go slip into my pajamas and grab something to drink. You want anything while I am downstairs?"

Callie frowns, half naked and rejected, "No. I'm fine. Thanks." She slams the door in his face and she hears him gripe about hormones before stamping down the carpeted steps.

Her plan won't succeed if he doesn't play along. And even then it's kind of going to be sketchy.

**_--_**

In the coming weeks Callie will find that keeping up with all of the joy around her will be more depressing than actually just acting out what she feels. She'll discover that in the face of Mark's new found way of living she's more bitter and repressed than she originally thought. And eventually, when the shine of a new toy wears down they'll come back to reality, hitting their heads and hearts along the way. Scraping recently healed wounds and breaking open more than a few stitches of the attempted repairs made by fake happiness.

Sometimes the good times are more trying than the bad. Sometimes they breed instability, drama and obscene amounts of resentment between two parties. Especially given one is merely going through the motions hoping that if everything on the outside is perfect that someday everything on the inside will follow suit.

There's no method for grief. No protocol to follow. No rules, guidelines, or policies. And for both Mark and Callie, being happy sounds like the reasonable solution. Unfortunately, there's no one to tell them any differently. They must fail by execution of defective planning; by false hope.

**_--_**


	13. An empty field

A/N: Long time, no see, eh? On the upside I'm thinking only 2-3 more chapters. We're almost to the end so my profound thanks for hanging in there and putting up with the irregular updates. Enjoy-

**_~-~-~-~-~-~  
An Empty Field  
~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Death, like many other extreme experiences, changes everything around it. Not all alterations are noticeable, not all are epic. Sometimes you simply wind up waking up to a day you hate. A day you'll hate until it's your time to rot in the dirt. A day that sucks your soul and tests your endurance. The calendar date that makes you dread ever having flipped the month up. Even it's not marked. Even when there's no name or hand drawn candles or numbers. Even when you try to ignore it, the square is still bright red.

It turns people. Changes the ones who thought they were above it, screws with the ones who were "prepared", and royally fucks over those it takes by surprise. It twists perceptions on moral and ethical situations, it transfers harbored feelings into real time, tells you exactly what you can handle and what will now make you cry out at the end of the week. It tightens the slack in tolerance, tugs on heartstrings, and crashes through the boundaries that you spend your whole life building up.

It's big enough to change the world of those affected by it. It's gigantic enough to convert Callie into a hopeless, lying idiot; large enough to revert Mark back into his very early non-social days where conversations with peers were difficult and awkward and being seen outside the kindergarten doors with another child was an impossible probability.

There's life after the pivotal curve of pain. People do go on, happily even, it's just the transition time that's the most difficult. Mark and Callie still plan on going forward, even in the midst of rough patches, but they notice with every step they take what exactly is different now; exactly how they are different now. It's trial and error. There's no other way to comprehend the one-eighties anymore; no logical path to trace when they purposely avoid a certain aisle at the grocery store without even thinking about it. Stripped bare, all they know are instincts.

It's a tough way to learn.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Callie responds to the lonely knock at her door with an irritated growl. It's been approximately twenty minutes since Mark left for some emergency or another and she had just gotten back to sleep. She trips down the carpet-less stairs of the house she still loathes and yanks the door open without checking to see who it is.

"Callie," Addison says softly over the wails of the infant in her arms.

"Morn'," Callie mumbles and shuffles her purple polka dotted sock clad feet backwards on the hardwood to let her friend in.

"I'm sorry," Addison sputters clutching Thea to her chest and pacing the short entry way, still clothed in her pajamas. A state she is certain she never would have left her house in before if it wasn't for this child who will not shut up. "I...can't...anymore." And then she breaks and starts crying because it's three in the morning and her daughter won't stop and hasn't stopped, she would swear on Derek's mother's life, since her husband left town two days ago. "She hates me."

Callie flicks on the light switch behind her and acts without thinking, the lack of sleep as her guiding wizard. She plucks Theadora out of her mother's arms and instinctively curls the baby into the warm spot by her neck, humming a soft tune in the back of her throat. She doesn't necessarily mind the piercing screams that are rattling her ear drums and she doesn't really care that Thea probably just spit up a pungent mix of milk all down her back, mixing in with her already matted hair. For that brief moment it's just them, and she can pretend, she can fake it. Even if the child in her arms is wearing yellow instead of blue, baby ducks instead of cars, a pink bow instead of a white hat. "Shhh...atta girl."

Callie bounces a few more times before confidently taking a seat on her gross pale lavender couch, spreading Thea across her closed thighs and rubbing her stomach in tiny circles and figure eights.

"I'm...I suck," Addison mumbles, trying to wipe the tears off her face. "She hasn't...she wants Derek and he's gone...and I didn't know what to do."

"I do this," Callie instructs with her hands soothingly splayed across the fabric of an already dirty onesie. "It works."

Half a second later she realizes that she doesn't do that anymore. That it doesn't work because there is nothing for it to work on. She takes a staggering breath of air and pushes the infant back toward Addison, no longer comfortable with the small being in her personal space.

"S-sorry," Addison apologizes weakly, cringing when Thea screams again, once cradled in her arms. "Maybe I'll just drive around town more...she likes that."

"You should sleep," Callie mentions, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it to her body, attempting to fill the void.

"Can't."

"You're too tense with her, she can sense it," Callie suggests without looking at anything in particular, mind wondering if she should flip on the fireplace, hoping to God Addison doesn't want to stay the rest of the night.

"I don't know what to do with her," Addison admits, water working its way down her face again. "The more she grows...the more she learns...she just wants Derek and he's out of town until Friday."

Leaving the silence as the conversationalist Callie dances up from her seat and opts for sitting on the risen hearth about ten feet away. She relishes in the hot heat against her thinly clothed skin, enjoys the burning tingle as it works down her spine. "It'll be okay," she says after five more minutes of Thea's painful cries. Maybe if she could just get the baby to sleep then Addison would leave; then she could go hide in the rocking chair upstairs and mourn her early morning grief.

"Relax," Callie advises and then guides Addison through the steps of the routine she used to know very well. Sometimes nothing works. Sometimes all they want is to be close. Sometimes they are colicky. It's not exactly a definable science and more often than not there is no one answer and they just need to cry. Sometimes people just need to cry it out. Forty minutes later they tiptoe to the door and Callie wishes her friend a lucky ride home with the now sleeping Thea.

She barely makes it up the stairs before she collapses under her own weight and reflexively claws at the barren wall wishing it would hold her tight instead of the warm, damp air circulating through the rooms.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Baby?" Mark questions, slamming the front door shut hours later. He was sent home by Webber who said Callie hadn't shown up yet today. He checks the kitchen, looking for signs of life or breakfast but it's empty and clean, just like the rest of the house. He turns off the fireplace and shrugs out of his leather jacket when he begins to broil in the eighty plus degree temperatures.

"Cal!" he shouts up the stairs, getting no reply. He shakes his head, sends up a small prayer that this is just a case of overly ridiculous morning sickness, and starts his ascent.

He finds her just past the landing, on a small rug, cuddling with the white wall. She's sound asleep with the tell tale tear marks dried onto her cheeks. Instead of lifting her into his arms, he tries to do the more reasonable thing and retreats to their new bedroom to get the down comforter she bought a month ago. He drapes the blanket over her body, pushes a few strands of wavy black out of her eyes, and kisses the bridge of her nose convinced she is already glowing.

Mark always loved pregnant Callie, at least after he got to know. He loved the way she used to cook up the oddest food combinations and always insist that he try a bite, enjoyed the second trimester fun more than any man in history, and practically felt his heart leap when he used to place a rough palm over their tumbling son at night. He never minded the tears, or the hormonal meltdowns over hair clips and not being able to see her shoes anymore. He took the doctor's appointments and swelling feet in stride and was content to be the guy who answered the door at two a.m. for the poor delivery man.

Mostly though, he loved the way she bubbled with delight. Her excitement, her nerves, her astonishment as they both looked down upon their son for the first time. He'll never forget it. And even if it's different now, even if she's going to be a mess about it the entire time, he's still happy that it's happening.

They need this. He needs this. It finally feels like something is going right.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Callie slumps over the bar top pitifully and swirls her vodka cran around its glass some more. She ignores the men eying her from the corner and swishes more of the tart crap through her numbing teeth. Normally she would just do shots, get to the point of falling down, belligerent drunk but this morning she's taking her time. Going through the motions slowly and wallowing in the anguish. She takes another long drag of her cigarette and then stomps it out on the bar ashtray letting the memories come swirling back with the cloud of smoke.

One year today.

One year ago today she was a mother. One year ago today he had gorgeous eyes and healthy little lungs and the sweetest mop of hair she's ever seen on a newborn. One year ago today he ate for the first time, cried for the first time, yawned for the first time.

It hurts everywhere.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Hey Karev!" Mark shouts down the hall, pleased when the resident comes to a screeching halt and turns back around. "Have you seen Callie?"

"Nope," Karev asserts and begins to walk away again, already having been warned by Dr. Bailey to be extra sensitive and all that crap around Torres and Sloan. If you asked him they should just sit at home and leave everyone else out of it because it's been damn near nine months and he's almost forgotten.

"You see her this morning? You were on the board with-"

"Dr. Torres has not been in," Alex sneers and twists away without further damage.

"It's true," Derek pipes up from behind a pink chart. "No one has seen her."

"Oh," Mark frowns and straightens out the collar of his faded blue button down. He was going to take her to lunch. He figured it was going to be awkward and painful, much like the lead in the last week has been, but they could do it together. He could make sure she wasn't out destroying cribs and lighting old pictures on fire. And maybe in turn she'd be able to see that he's also barely keeping it in check today; that his hand has been clutching the one picture of Darren he has, hidden well in his jeans pocket, for the last three days straight.

"How you doing?" Derek asks quietly, putting his back to the nurses and giving Mark's arm a firm, supportive squeeze.

"Been better," he gulps and shirks out of Derek's touch. He's done the crying thing. He'd like to think he's over it for the day, having spent a lovely morning hiding in the guest bedroom, away from Callie's silent shrieks of agony.

"You need anything?"

"Just Callie," Mark answers in earnest and shifts oddly from foot to foot trying not to let the emotions get the best of him, at least until he can make it out to the car again. It's inevitable to have so little control, to feel it all over, but it is also unwanted and he just wants the day to be over as quickly as possible so they can move on with their regularly scheduled programming.

"I'll call and ask Addie, okay?" Derek volunteers, not knowing whether or not it will be of any use.

"Yeah man, that'd...be good."

"Okay." Derek slaps his shoulder, understanding better than to go any further and fishes out his cell phone when Mark makes no sudden movements. After listening to his daughter scream and a brief round of threats Derek reveals that Addison has no idea where Callie is but that she'll try calling her.

"It's alright," Mark sighs. She doesn't want to be found today. He gets it. Kind of. Because if this is any sort of indication, he may as well find a bomb shelter to die in when the one year anniversary rolls around.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Torres," Alex announces and yanks her up by the arm, "Up off your ass now."

"Excuse you," Callie nearly yells and wiggles free, sloshing her tequila out of its cup and onto the floor.

"You need to go home," he pauses for a second remembering the gossip from Meredith and Izzie as he waited for his turn in the bathroom a few weeks ago, now realizing why Sloan was playing treasure hunt with them. "You're pregnant! What are you thinking?" He grabs the glass and slams it down on the counter earning a disapproving glare from the bartender.

"Not pregnant," Callie adamantly tells him, wiping the alcohol off her hands and onto her pants, pissed that he wasted a perfectly good shot.

"But-"

"Don't believe everything you hear," Callie warns and tries to order again when the guy behind her rolls his eyes in disbelief. "You want anything?" She motions to the many colored bottles lined up and ready to make people feel better and then worse.

"No," he gulps. "But Sloan thinks-"

"Sloan's an idiot," Callie remarks bitterly and washes down the thought with a delightful dark beer, coincidentally also one of Mark's favorites. It's natural to push people away and still hope they show up against your will to hold you right?

"Does everyone else know?"

"You and me Karev," Callie states plainly, uninterested and really wanting to get back to the daydreams of old baby blankets and midnight story tellings; of endless nights and quiet mornings.

Alex ends up ordering something anyway, ignoring his pager when it sounds and hitting decline when Izzie calls his cellphone. He sits with her in silence, trying not to guess what she is thinking about.

_"He's pretty great," Mark says softly, looking down at his son, wrapped securely in Callie's arms._

_"He's great when he sleeps," Callie corrects without thought._

_"I don't mind the cries," Mark admits. He snuggles closer to the two, settled in on the couch at only four in the afternoon, watching his girlfriend's eyes drift close, the television court show playing quietly in the background._

If she had known that would be the last time he would sleep in her arms, she wouldn't have dozed off, she wouldn't have been so hateful all the time. She would have cherished every scream, recorded every distorted sound for reference.

If only she had known.

"You want me to take you to Addison's?" Alex asks nearly an hour later, as every emotion in her face is replaced with liquor.

_"He's so cute Cal," Addison squeals and lifts the infant out of his carrier, cuddling him close and inhaling the sweet scent of baby._

_"You can have him," Callie grunts, trying to move away._

_"You're just tired," Addison justifies and pats Darren's back as he gurgles happily at the busy world of the diner behind him._

_"I know," Callie sighs, "I just...thought it would be easier. I don't know."_

_"Anything worth having isn't easy, you know that." _

It's not easy. It's never easy anymore. She sneaks a hand to Alex's belt loop and tugs, suddenly struck with a brilliant idea.

"Whoa...what are you doing?" Alex jumps back in surprise.

"Making it easier," she illuminates cryptically and pulls him toward the dingy bathrooms she visited an hour ago.

It takes Alex's mind the full walk to down the hall to figure out what is happening. "No, we can't do this."

"Why not?" Callie asks, a bounce in her step, her mind already thinking of the ways this could be beneficial. She needs to be pregnant, Alex needs a quick lay for dealing with her all afternoon. No one has to know.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Oh good," Addison glares at her friend, "You're alive."

"Ugh," Callie groans and tries to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. "What.."

"You're at my house. Alex left you here after he said you came on to him when you were drunk. What were you thinking!" Addison places her hands on her hips, purses her lips and waits for the stupid response.

"Need coffee," Callie mutters and searches the guest room for the escape door.

"You won't be getting any in here or out there anywhere, there's no coffee in this house."

"This is hell," Callie mutters honestly, groping around the floor for her shoes.

"Cal," Addison slows down with a cleansing breath, "What's happening with you? I thought...you and Mark were so happy about-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Callie retorts quickly. She pats her head gently, feeling the rocks begin to tumble. God, how much did she drink?

"Do I tell Mark? I mean Derek knows...I don't see how I can't," Addison rambles and takes a seat on the bed, worrying. "Do you know what alcohol does to a fetus? Do you remember anything outside of how to set bones? God, Callie...I know it hurts but you can't do shit like this. You've put the baby at a significantly greater risk of developing-"

"Shut up!" she yells as loud as she can bare. Frustrated, she reaches around and finds her purse and one lone boot. "Just shut up Addison. Come down off your high and mighty pedestal and cut me some fucking slack, ok? Nothing happened. You don't need to freak out on me-"

"Karev said you drank everyone under the bar and-"

"It's not a big deal."

"Callie!"

"I said," she raises her voice, "It's not a big fucking deal. Now where are my keys?"

"You think I'm going to let you go back to Mark like this?" Addison asks incredulously.

"You don't let me do anything! I do what I want-"

"Perfectly exhibited last night by-"

"Stop shouting at me," Callie demands, holding her dirty, tangled hair in her hands and massaging her scalp gently. She's going to throw up. That much she is certain of.

"Then stop being an idiot!"

Addison waits a few seconds, ticked off the clock, trying to get calm again and not alert Derek to anything. "Here's what we're going to do. You'll take a shower while I make you something to eat. Then I'll drive you to the hospital-"

"I don't work today." Least she was smart enough to schedule that off.

"Yeah but that's where Alex dropped your car off."

"Fine," Callie huffs when finding the rubber band that was supposed to be holding the mess all together.

"Good. Now go shower. I'll see you downstairs."

Callie watches the door click closed and tries to recall how the hell she ended up here and what exactly happened with Alex. She remembers the unholy amount of alcohol she consumed and propositioning him but the rest is kind of blank. She peels her shirt overhead just in time to realize she's going to need something to throw up in and doubles over the toilet.

She feels a warm washcloth on the back of her neck minutes later and comforting hand pulling her hair back.

"Addison liked this," Derek says soothingly, his voice scratchy from the time of morning.

Callie moans and shakes her head, knowing she's basically naked from the waist up.

"Just relax Callie, you can't go back and fix it all now," Derek commands and tries to dissuade the awkwardness of the situation from affecting either of them. "There's nothing we can do now."

Somehow she manages to cry and dry heave and Derek never says another word about all the mistakes she's made; how badly she keeps hurting his friend. He silently leaves the bathroom after turning on the water for her and places an extra fluffy towel on the bathroom counter. "Hurry or you'll miss all the fun of Addison trying to be domestic. And trust me, it's far more entertaining than the hangover you're going to be sporting all day."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"I just wish she would let me help her," Addison moans pathetically into her husbands shoulder as he stands behind her and the stove, trying to flip the pancakes as she has a break down. He's at a serious disadvantage being forced back by her form, but he figures slightly burnt pancakes are better than a breakfast ruined because of an emotional meltdown. "I want to help her."

"Addison," he pats her head with his free hand, "There's nothing we can do but feed her and get her back to the hospital. Let her sort it out for herself."

"She's going to screw everything up." Her voice soundly muffled by his soft white undershirt.

"Then she's going to screw it up and us intervening again only results in making you upset...and I don't want that. They have to start figuring it out."

"I know," she whines, tears still working down her face and onto his clothes. "But I want to help. I want to be her friend again. I want her to come to me."

"You can want that all day, everyday, but that doesn't mean it will happen." He scoots her head to the side, trying to see between the flaming locks that are blocking his cooking process.

"Morning," Callie announces her presence and slips onto the barstool at the counter five feet away. The smell of whatever Derek is cooking while trying to hold Addison is making her stomach turn again but she has no good, polite way to say she's not interested. There's no way out of this except doing as she was told.

Addison tries to covertly wipe off her face and slip from the room unnoticed but her "friend" calls her back before she can make it out unscathed.

"I...just..."

"Nothing happened with Karev," Addison rectifies for her, understanding what she needs to hear.

"Thank you," Callie says softly and turns to the slightly dark pancakes Derek has set down in front of her. She takes them dry, with a glass of water and two aspirin, barely finishing before Derek says that can take her on his way to work. So that Addison doesn't have to waste an hour getting Dora, as he calls her, presentable for the world to see but the redhead balks and Derek folds under the pressure so Callie gets stuck on the traffic ridden drive with a furious woman and a screaming child.

Precisely what the doctor ordered for her pounding head.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

An hour later, in the haze of pain and queasiness, she decides it and begins to set the plan in motion. She's run out of time and ways and means to find another solution.

"I need you do to something for me," Callie says just barely over the buzz of the classical music wafting from the speakers.

"I'm not lying to Mark for you," Addison replies quickly.

"No, I'll...deal with Mark. I need your help. Your professional help," Callie clarifies hoping Addison will catch on. There are no other choices here. Mark won't impregnate her, Alex won't screw her, this is her only option and she's terrified it won't work.

"I don't think-"

"I need you to help me stage a miscarriage," Callie suddenly blurts out.

"You want...an abortion?" Addison sputters, trying to keep her eyes on the road.

"No. I want...I just need you to do this for me, okay?"

"But-"

"Addison, please," Callie pleads.

"I don't...I can't-"

"You can...and I'm hoping you will. I need this. And I'll explain it later...but we'll just tell Mark I wasn't feeling well and I went to you and it happened...and now you're here checking out everything."

"I told you I wouldn't lie to him Callie and I meant-"

"Don't talk to him then. I'll tell him. Just help me," her voice cracks as the pellets of rain begin to splash across the windshield. "Please help me Addison," she treads urgently, each statement an exact replica of the dire situation she's places herself in. "Please, please, please."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

She twists in her gown nervously as Addison snaps on a pair of gloves. "I don't understand what we are doing."

"Make it look like-"

"No, I get that. I don't get why but what about...the baby. Are you going to run out on Mark or something and do this on your own?"

"There is no baby Addison," Callie states without emotion. There's never a baby. No babies for her. She just...kills them. Why not play along with history?

"But-"

"I lied."

"Oh," Addison reaches into the drawer, wracking her brain on how to make this legitimate and viable.

"I thought I was," Callie says sadly. "I wanted to be...Mark is so happy now...but I'm not and he won't touch me anymore so...this is it. This is my only way out."

"You could tell him the truth," Addison offers, rooting through a cluttered bag of supplies.

"You don't get it. He's happy Addison! He's honest-to-God, over-the-moon happy about this...and I can't take that away from him again. We've been normal and functioning and...nature has to do it."

"This isn't nature, it's a lie. It's all a lie Callie," Addison argues instinctively. This, in all of her years of training and practice, is a first.

Callie throws her head back against the exam table. "Fine. Let's let him figure it out on his own and then yell and throw things and get drunk and get in a car wreck when he decides he can drive. It's better this way! It's better if it's this way!"

"It's going to hurt either way-"

"I don't want him to blame me! I want for once to not be at blame! I'm sick and tired of being the one in trouble all of the freaking time! I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if you go down there and cut me to make me bleed but you will do it. Because you're my friend. Because you are his friend. Because I got your daughter to sleep for three nights in a row when you couldn't. Because you owe me! You owe me this Addison!" Callie wrings her hands together in a tight knot, letting them white knuckle out, "I asked you to just tie my tubes but you wouldn't. We wouldn't be here if that hadn't have happened. Don't you get that! Then he...could've left me and not felt bad. We wouldn't feel bad anymore if it wasn't for you."

Addison gulps back the knot in her throat and prepares to start making scratches on the chart. "How far along were you?"

"Twelve weeks," Callie decides.

"And when did the pain start?"

"Last night, around five."

"Have you been experiencing any bleeding?"

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Where is she?" Mark asks urgently, running directly into Addison and then launching himself backwards and scanning the rooms.

"Mark-"

"Addison, don't...where is she?" Mark looks around again, swallowing the thick froth in his throat, hoping that Callie is okay, or as okay as one can possibly be after the day they had yesterday. He never saw her, never heard from her, and now he's being paged by Addison and the looming feeling of guilt can't do anything but wrap it's hands around his neck and squeeze. Oh, all the things he would change.

"You should know, I'm running labs, but we think...I'm positive that she had a-"

"Oh," Mark gags, "No."

"She's resting right now. You can see her in a little while. I'll have someone come get you," she explains trying to get herself the hell out of this. It will not end well, and she is tired of being the one everyone screams at when it falls apart. She watches his head hang in defeat. "Mark," she grabs his swinging hand, "Callie's going to be fine."

"That's good," he mumbles out in a whisper and then turns roughly on his heel and heads toward the stairwell.

"Mark!" Addison calls out. Her fingers find the tense spot between her eyes about the time Karev wanders over and asks what's happening.

"I'll go," Derek tells her when the growing group begins to look at each other, fingers poised for rock-paper-scissors. He hands over their daughter quickly and takes off.

The dark haired surgeon busts through the heavy door on the roof and scrubs his hands across his face, searching for any signs of life. He finds him huddled, back against the short wall, clutching his own knees. A helpless position if Derek's ever seen one. He braves the gray clouds and light drizzle to take up a semi dry spot next to his friend. His legs fall straight, flat against the cold concrete, and he waits.

"You can't do this to her," Derek insists, bored after three minutes. Mark shrugs carelessly and he rolls his eyes. "She needs you right now...and if you run away, she's not going to forgive you. You won't forgive you."

"Whatever," Mark snarls and attempts to sort out the most interesting puddle on the roof.

"You know, I've seen you through a lot of crap, and I've put up with your immature pranks-"

"I-"

"You slept with my wife," Derek argues, feeling victorious when the other man clams up, "This is not the time for any of that crap. Right here, right now. Time to grow up Mark."

"Shut up Derek," Mark says instantly. Willing to fight over the Addison thing. He doesn't care if he loses a friend. He doesn't care about losing anything anymore. He thought he was a better person. He thought he could handle this, be strong for her, and hold it together on the inside but maybe the reality is he can't. Maybe he's just the guy who sleeps with people's wives and runs away when it gets too real.

"I know you. I know you didn't stick around this long, put up with what you've put up with, just to leave her now. And now you're thinking, what was it worth, right? What was it for?"

"No," Mark says weakly. He hates this guy.

"This doesn't change anything. It doesn't take away all of the hard work you guys have done. She wants to be with you. This doesn't change that. She's what you need."

"Two," Mark tells the blowing wind. "Two of them."

Maybe this is what he deserves for being that guy his whole life. Doesn't mean he doesn't want it to be another way; doesn't mean he doesn't miss being a dad and all of the things that went with it. This was supposed to fix everything.

"Give it time," Derek advises, falling against the wall behind him in defeat. There's no reasoning with Mark when he gets like this. All you can do is ride it out.

"I need to run." Mark stands and gets away safely, wanting the clarity of his heart thumping and his lungs gasping.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"I'm done," Addison vocalizes, sinking into the chair next to Callie's bed, watching her friend restlessly flip through channels. "Tell me what you did."

"Already did."

"You can't do this to him." Addison shakes her head and folds her hands into her lap.

"I'm saving him."

"You're hurting him! Again! Because you can and everyone else is left to deal with it."

Callie purses her lips in thought and then declines, "No. You hurt him, because you can and then he comes to me. I deal with what you did. All the time."

"This is ridiculous," Addison shrieks exasperated. "I'm going to go get your fake lab work. Have a nice rest Dr. Torres, I'll be back soon." She snatches the television remote on her way out, full of spite, and slams it into the closest garbage can. What a day.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Cal?" Mark dips his head into the cracked doorway, smiling when she appears to be asleep. He slips into the seat next to her bed and reflexively grabs her hand, stroking it softly. Running helps.

"Hey," Callie greets somberly.

"I-"

"I-" They begin at the same time. Callie clears her throat and tells him to go first.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner...I had to do some things."

"It's okay," she assures him and scoots a little closer.

"It's not," he shakes his head in denial and frowns, "What happened?"

Callie pokes her toes out from underneath the flimsy blanket and sighs, "I was going to..." she stops, looking at him and then does an about face, spitting out the lie she was convinced she wasn't going to use thirty minutes ago. "I was at home...and it hurt...I called Addison..."

"Alright," Mark nods. "It's alright ba-..." He clutches her fingers tighter when she takes a shaky breath in and the tears begin to dribble downward, pulled by gravity and sorrow.

"I'm sorry, so sorry...so sorry," she gasps between murmurings, not letting up until he climbs into her bed and rests a hand over her smooth stomach, rubbing the thin gown.

"There's nothing to be sorry for Callie. We have no control...anymore."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Addison glares at the papers in her hand, convinced someone fucked up something somewhere along the way. Then she sets her jaw and stamps her heels along the ground until she comes to the right room. She loses the attitude when her hand brushes against the handle, and loses her will when it begins to turn.

Instead she flips around and heads to check on her daughter, who, against her better judegment, is with Dr. Yang. Bad news can wait. They've had enough for today as it is.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

People can spend their whole lives never knowing who they are. However, tragedy defines, painfully outlines, who you are not.

Before they can think they don't go out for walks anymore because that used to represent a better time with a missing person. Suddenly they purposefully go out of their way to avoid a certain supermarket aisle because they just can't bear to see any of it. They hide in closets when things get too rough because they cannot handle the changes. They don't smile effortlessly, they don't laugh with any emotion, they don't challenge what they think is wrong.

All they can do is hold on.

Cling tightly to the swinging rope, hands burned by every shift, minds lost in the constant forward motion. And sometimes they collide. Ill-operated lives smashing into one another, limbs cracking under the force, hearts touching momentarily. Briefly they see who they were. Callie, a caring, compassionate, slightly wayward woman. But someone strong, someone who hoped for things, who trusted. Mark, a free falling individual, looking only for the next score but learning in his short time with her that maybe he was the guy who wanted the house and dog and 2.5 kids out back.

A broken mirror, cutting with its reminders of what no longer is; what can't possibly remain after the impact. It's a tough way to learn.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	14. the Silence

A/N: I took some time away from this story, and I apologize for that, but I have it straightened out now, and there's one more part. Thanks for remembering, if you did, or rereading if you had to go that route like I did. Enjoy-

**_~-~-~-~-~-~  
the Silence  
~-~-~-~-~-~_**

When the pain becomes insurmountable, when they begin to stumble, it helps to have a fall back. Something or someone to rely on. It's a lesson in self-soothing.

People question how they are both upright, how they are on their own two feet when an event so unthinkable has occurred. And in the end the answer is that there is no other option. The world moves with or without you, and a participatory involvement is involuntary. Action and reaction. People need sutures, people need bones reset and screwed back together. People desire a hand, a friend, a calming voice through their medical turmoil. It's what they do. It's what they know. It is relaxing. The blood, the lacerations, the gore, every cut, every stitch. They are surgeons. It's a comforting routine.

For Callie there are other methods. Alcohol and nicotine are her choices of poison. At least, outwardly. But what no one knows, what no one cares to know is that there is a tiny blue sock in her coat at all times. When things become to hectic, when she feels like crumbling under the stress, her fingers find the reliable fabric. Squish, stroke, twine. Whatever the situation calls for. And it helps, to have that small part of her son in her pocket. Reachable but not whole, a piece but not the entirety of his essence. Just enough to keep her going. Just enough to keep her sane.

Mark had inadvertently devoted his life to one thing-the family he was building. So that when the bottom dropped out of that, and when Callie clear cut their home of any memorabilia, he was left with his memories and a crinkled picture in his wallet of the day Darren was born. He considers it a good luck charm, if nothing else. He carries it everywhere. In his shorts when he jogs, in his scrubs when he operates, and in his jeans while in transit. It's at the point where he can't imagine functioning without the scrap of paper burning a hole against his thigh, creased across Callie's face. Last week, in the midst of Callie's morning sickness, he thought he had misplaced it and suffered a mild panic attack until he located it in the pocket of his other dirty jeans. The picture, the only one he has, the only one he assumes still even exists, is what gets him through the nights of Callie hiding in the nursery that isn't theirs. It drags him through the long mornings where the world feels like it may collapse, and it holds his hand through the in between moments that like to mock them.

But are still searching, reaching for the coat tails of a permanent solution that is still ever so illusive in broad daylight. At the end of the week though, the little things-socks, pictures, memories-are only surface items. They keep the world spinning, but they don't keep anyone alive.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Inside their private hell, Mark clutches at the fingers of a woman he has hardly been privy to touch over the last few months. When she mourns, Callie is a private person. Her hurt echoes down the hallway to their bedroom where he lies awake with his own grief. But this, the new baby, it brought them together. Aligned for a moment amongst the expanse of stars and now that too has been viciously snatched away. "Did...Addison...confirm anything?" Mark chokes out after a few seconds.

He only gets a weak nod to which he chooses to take in slowly, brushing the knotted curls on her forehead out of the way. "It's okay," he assures her, saying what needs to be said, a trait he didn't even know he possessed before all this began.

Callie ceases her chant of 'I'm sorry' and looks up. She's done it. Brilliantly acted, if she does say so herself, but there's a pinch of something else. Something very real, lamenting over the fact that the baby that never existed is now no more. And all it takes is a touch of something slightly unbearable or mildly unpleasant to knock her off her horse and send her tumbling down again. The cries turn to sobs, the sobs to screams, and finally Mark takes mercy upon her and buries her pathetic face into his shirt, hesitantly stroking her back as if it may lash out and bite him.

And then they wait. Wait for someone to tell them it's time to stop, time to return to the real world. The place with responsibilities and expectations; no time for whining and moaning.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Addison glares at the lab work in her hands once more, hoping that if she distorts her vision enough she'll begin to see what she wants and not what is actually there. When it fails, she grumbles to herself, drawing the attention of nurses, and then drops her new cause of stress on the counter.

"Whatcha got?" Derek grins, hugging their daughter to his chest tightly.

"Nothing," Addison replies, grabbing Thea's hand and smiling.

"Callie sick?" Derek prods. "She didn't look that bad this morning," he recalls. He remembers her picking at her breakfast sadly, and the throwing up that happened beforehand. He's seen alcohol poisoning and she certainly was far from fitting the bill.

"It's nothing," Addison coos, her voice far from the strong doctor she was impersonating before being sent on maternity leave. But while she's notably distracted with her baby, Derek manages to leaf through the notes and exclaim, "Callie's pregnant!"

Addison feels her stomach bottom out, and her eyes widen instantly. "Damn it Derek," she swats the papers out of his hands, clenching her teeth furiously. "Don't you think it would be nice if they got to hear the news from their doctor instead of Nurse Olivia?"

"I thought-"

"No," Addison interrupts. "I haven't yet- I couldn't. And now you've ruined it."

"Sorry," Derek offers sheepishly, shielding himself with Dora.

"The baby will not save you from my wrath," Addison warns him, "but now I need to go deal with this. And you," she emphasizes, "will sit out here and wait for me without speculating or gossiping with anyone."

"I like when you pretend to be angry," Derek grins.

"I'm serious," Addison tells him, but fails on the delivery. To try and save face she stamps away, heels of her newly resized feet hitting the tile loudly as she goes.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Sorry to interrupt," Addison gulps, noting how Mark and Callie pull away from one another like a jolt of electricity has just entered the room.

Mark stretches against his chair, back aching already. "Did you- I...she-ugh," he sighs. He's the most unprepared, overeducated person in the room.

Callie gives her head a subtle shake, indicating to Addison to please proceed with what they rehearsed in the car. The tears that cover her cheeks, however, were not in the rough draft. Performances sometimes need to be altered accordingly.

"Congratulations," Addison smirks, desperate to escape, "You're pregnant."

"What?" Callie swallows, feeling the remnants of bitter alcohol churn.

"She's okay?" Mark asks, eyes brightening, facing Addison as if she was his own personal savior instead of the woman who ruined his life. "The baby is okay?"

"Everything appears to be in order," Addison replies, dropping the paperwork onto Callie's lap. She's not screwing around here. There's really an innocent life hanging in the balance of these two fools, and in light of the fact that she hasn't worked since Theadora's birth, she's a little tender and out of practice. Plus Callie seems to still hate her most days, while asking for favors, and it rubs Addison the wrong way.

"But I- you said," Callie begins, "you said I miscarried Addison."

"Yes, well..." Addison grits her teeth and scowls, "Evidently, I was wrong."

"Wrong!" Mark shouts all of a sudden. "How- this is your fucking job Addison! This is a big thing to screw up!"

Addison thought he would be ecstatic, instead the pent up rage is about to be thrown in her very capable direction. "Tell him," she demands.

"Are you sure?" Callie croaks instead, not noticing the fury and tension that is mounting. She takes the edges of the reports delicately, afraid they might burst into flames. It could all end. Right here. Right now.

"Ran it four times," Addison tells her, looking away from Mark, who has jammed his hands into his jeans. "I'll need you to set up an appointment with your doctor before I release you Cal. You understand."

"I thought-" Mark pauses oddly. "Our next appointment was still a few weeks away Callie. You said Addison was-"

"She was," Callie looks up at Addison pointedly, hoping for rescue. "It's just...she's not back yet from maternity leave and she wants to make sure, after this episode, that I get double checked. Right Addison?"

Mark takes to staring at her too after a few seconds, and Addison straightens her shoulders. She said she wouldn't lie for Callie, she won't be untruthful with Mark, one of her oldest friends. Priorities must be made clear here once more. "I have to get back...Derek has Thea and he needs to scrub in soon. I'll send in a nurse."

"Addison?" Mark questions uneasily. He glances at Callie, who is twirling the blanket on her lap through her fingers. "What?" he asks her simply.

Addison said she wouldn't lie, she didn't say she'd be a convincing actress. It's a technical gray area, a place she is fairly comfortable in. She keeps her feet on the ground, back slumped, face concerned. If her appearance raises red flags from Mark then so be it. He deserves to know. He always deserves to at least know. "Callie," she nods.

"Callie what?" Mark asks, growing frustrated by the weird circle in the room.

"I follow patient's wishes. Sometimes no one gets hurt. Sometimes it's for the greater good. And sometimes I wind up in the middle of a lawsuit, but I listen to my patients," Addison says. "Callie you are my patient today. I heard you out. I did what you wanted within the scope of my abilities. I'm done now."

"Addison," Callie remarks sternly, surprising herself. "Go. I'll explain."

Addison lets out a quick laugh. "Right."

"Get out," Callie tells her once more, watching as she slips from the room.

When Mark turns to face her this time, she knows a few tears aren't going to save the day.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Mark's sneaker catches on the shiny tiles below his feet, causing him to stumble forward, reaching out a hand to steady himself on the bed. He watches her feet jerk back as the grip on the lab report tightens. He was hoping to be happy. As soon as he heard Addison save him, he expected some sort of rejoicing to be taking place. Their baby is safe and sound, he heard it from the best. But something is wrong, there's a strange pressure over the room, he feels as though the may explode at any moment. Tiny kernels of popcorn spilling out without notice. It wouldn't take much. "Callie," he croaks, crooking out a finger, beckoning the papers she is holding.

Working overdrive Callie's head spins wildly. There have got to be ways to explain this. She could lie and say she got a false positive, and that when she found out she just didn't feel like bothering him. It was minuscule, a minor detail in their busy lives. But she's only three weeks along. She doesn't know when she would have had to learn the news. It's far too recent to convince him of anything else. Her stomach flips turns as she relinquishes the power in her fingertips.

He's always read far too slow for her liking, choosing to scrutinize scribbles and lines. It's painful though, to wait for the crinkle in his forehead when he begins to understand.

"I'm confused," he mumbles, tossing the news down.

Perhaps she overestimated his capabilities. "Ok," Callie starts hesitantly.

"I don't understand. You said...you said, months ago- Callie. Months."

"Yes," she agrees, watching the wheels turn.

"You lied," he accuses.

"I thought I was," Callie corrects.

"But you weren't," Mark attempts to clarify, for his own sake, since he seems to be the one so far, far behind.

"No," Callie shakes her head, watching him begin to pace the room, arms flinging, slicing through the thick air.

"But you said."

"Yeah," Callie nods slowly, inching her way out from under the blanket. She hasn't had time to understand what the new pregnancy means, she had given up on being successful weeks ago.

"You lied."

"You looked so happy," Callie counters.

"Izzie," Mark breathes suddenly. Stevens and Grey found the initial lab work. Everyone but him has known. She made him a fool.

"What about-"

"So...today, you were in pain and Addison-"

"I called Addison," Callie fills in, suddenly realizing that this may work.

"You knew-"

"I was pretty sure...that I was this time," Callie mumbles softly. "Addison was on maternity leave, I wanted to make sure. She said I was miscarrying and I...I'm sorry I never told you Mark...I'm so sorr-"

"You're okay," Mark smiles insanely, looking back for the first time in a few minutes. "We're still having a baby Cal."

"Yeah," Callie gulps, the knot in her throat refusing to untie.

Somehow this feels so much worse than her initial plan. Suddenly there are too many people involved.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Thanks a lot!" Callie shouts, dropping her purse on Addison's floor, ignoring Derek's greeting as she marches forward to the couch where the redhead has stationed herself.

"Do not start with me," Addison whispers, stroking Theadora's sleeping cheek.

"Addison, I asked you-"

"I said I wouldn't lie to him," Addison reminds her, not caring that her husband has come to referee the match, just in case.

"How dare you-"

"I did you a favor," Addison seethes. "One that went against a great many of the boundaries I have put in place for myself over the years. And you're ungrateful Callie. You're selfish. Do you know how much you drank last night?"

"I wasn't supposed to be pregnant!" Callie yells back, unsure of who she is more angry at.

"Wait," Derek interrupts. "You aren't pregnant?"

"Apparently I am," Callie spats. "I didn't know," she urges her friend. "I didn't know Addison."

"Fetal Alcohol Syndrome can be caused-"

"Oh my God, do not start with me-"

"And you smoke like a chimney," Addison reminds her.

"You smoke?" Derek asks, trying to keep up, both women ignoring him.

"You're underweight, you don't eat, you don't sleep. How can you reasonably expect not to lose this child too?"

Callie swallows angrily, wanting to snatch away Thea and hand her to Derek so she can do some real damage. "You don't get to preach at me-"

"Consider it a wake up call from your friendly neighborhood Gyno," Addison continues. "Be thankful, get your ass to a doctor, start taking your prenatal vitamins, and get out of my house. I don't want to see you anymore today."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Mark swirls the dark liquid around his cup two more times before taking another sip. It's a game he plays with himself lately, one he invented with Darren was born. There was no sense in going out and getting hammered drunk then so when he did need a gulp of something he made himself count the seconds, the swirls between swallows. This way he can have both. An evening of sitting in a bar, and still be lucid enough to be around small children should the need arise. Also, he found it particularly helpful when Darren went through his refusing to sleep stage. A headache and that kid's screams would have been enough to send Mark straight back from where he came.

"I heard," Meredith greets him, slipping onto a stool a mere space away.

"Suppose everyone has," Mark guesses, looking over at her tequila. "Bad day?"

"Just...not a good one," Meredith grins, smacking her now empty glass on the counter. She sighs and then gives in, Mark's wayward glance imploring her to speak up. "My intern punched Cristina's intern, and Bailey was...well, Bailey about the whole thing. I need a drink."

"And new interns," Mark points out cautiously.

"Yeah," Meredith grins, bringing Joe over to pour them each a shot. "One for the club," she tells him when his eyes need a reason.

"For the club," Mark agrees. Kindred spirits, many years in between, he knows what it is to be Meredith Grey, even when she doesn't.

"Callie is okay, right?" Meredith wonders aloud a few minutes later, after they've drifted off into their own minds.

"Yeah," Mark nods. He doesn't know where she is, he doesn't know if she's coming home, he doesn't know if he trusts her to say a single word of truth anymore, but she is, if nothing else, bordering on okay.

"Good," Meredith decides, leaving her notice of acquiescence, if he should ever need anything, left unsaid.

On the way out the door, headed home to where he hopes Callie is already stationed and resting, Karev tells him to get a better handle on his woman. To which he receives a strong punch to the jaw and an oxygen-sucking shove against the heavy wall.

Mark can't say it didn't feel good.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

It takes Callie two laps around her new suburban neighborhood to realize that she doesn't know the layout of the streets as well as she thought she did. She circles the pool once more, lungs steady under her control, mind frustrated by the same damn scenery. Spring is struggling to come to life, buried listlessly under late February frost. The trees barren, shrubs frozen solid, curbs swept clean of dead, soggy leaves. She imagines in the calmer months of the year the area may actually be pretty, but for now it is as dead as her heart, heavy as lead.

Her feet tread along the new pavement, keeping her eyes down as nosy people have surely begun to stare. She's panting roughly, saliva caught in the back of her throat, and her lungs feel like shredding, but it's worth it. The euphoria at the top of the ride, it's all she needs.

She decides to walk the rest of the way back, biding her time.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Callie," Mark breathes, swooping into the newly opened space on the busy counter. He hasn't seen her in two days, one her on call night, the other his. She looks dead on her feet and a part of him swells with immediate concern, however useless it may be.

"Mark," Callie acknowledges, her head down.

"What time are you off tonight?"

"Seven," Callie answers truthfully, the grip on her pen imperceptibly tightening. His breath lingers over her neck, warm and moist.

Mark nods, gulping back his anticipation. He's been awake for over twenty-four hours and the plan is sounding better and better. A nice dinner, a quick walk around town, and then a serious talk about their future. He's had enough of being love struck, of being complacent in taking what she'll give. It's time to be adults, to collectively decide to move on.

Dr. Wyatt has helped immensely, though he'll never admit it. Mostly, it's just nice to have someone to talk to who isn't Derek, who is hardly paying attention as it is. And while his son's death will always be associated with anguish in his mind, in his soul, the new life they have created is eclipsing his need to mourn.

The step between wanting to move forward and getting to, however, is one of the most difficult.

"I was thinking," Mark clears his throat, his trademark smirk not even traceable as he faces her, "We could have dinner tonight...together."

"Yeah, sure," Callie mumbles into her chart.

"Good," Mark smiles, brushing her arm. "Good."

Callie catches on eventually, her face confused as he bounces away, coffee in hand.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Dinner is tense, filled with the looks of disdain and disappointment that have become a regular statue in their lives. The waiters sense it, Callie thinks, never once asking how they are enjoying their meal. Mark tries to engage her, asks her about work and patients, but fails to notice that ever since she's returned to work, while she may be completely immersed, she doesn't really care.

It's about going through the motions. Treading water until that break comes. What she'd give anything for a drop of hope.

She could count the words she said to him on two hands by the time he escorts her out onto the pier, Seattle's pretty shimmering lights wavering over the water's edge. She takes to it, watching the ripples against the strong wooden planks. Everything is easier than talking to him, being with him.

She's spent the better part of the last two months, Darren's "birthday" excluded, working her ass off to please him. She's tired, nay, exhausted and he doesn't see it. Every sentence is carefully constructed, replies thoughtful. Every outing is worked up to, planned in order to provide the most serenity. Every night at home a constant battle between her heart and mind. She wants to scream until her voice gives out, she wants to run until her legs break.

She wants to be the woman who is still curled into her couch, staring at walls blank as paper. Instead, she's here.

"Come on," Mark instructs, pulling her into his arms, slouching against the railing for a moment before pulling her away and dragging her towards the end of the pier. The moon hangs high in the sky, stars covered by notorious clouds. He's lucky it isn't raining.

They rest upon the damp wooden rails, waiting. Then he begins. "We should talk-"

"I- can't," Callie says back quickly. It's been coming all night, really all week.

"Callie," Mark scolds.

"Mark."

"Fine," Mark huffs, fingers finding his pocket for a moment of sanity. He doesn't need to see the faces of the pictures to know where they are, he doesn't need to feel the glossy side to know that that day was the happiest of his life. He wraps his coat around himself and starts to walk back to the car alone, feeling that she is somewhere behind him.

"Wait!" Callie calls, the shadows of trees intimidating her. He stops, forward facing, and stalls. "Mark," she says softly when she reaches him, a finger running along his chin. "I don't...know how...we do this."

Mark smiles sadly. He doesn't know how it goes either, both of them seemingly taped together until the end of time. Fate seems to want things her own way lately. "I want you to start seeing someone Callie. Someone you like this time, someone you can trust."

"No."

"I know you think that maybe you aren't ready, but we can't wait anymore. We don't have any luxuries. I want it to be different this time."

This time, Callie echoes to herself. Last time there was joy, there was laughter, there was trepidation. She doesn't know how to get any of that back. She doesn't know how to feel anything. "It won't fix anything," she argues instead.

"It has to be different," Mark demands, his face hardening protectively. He can't bring a child into the mess they've made, the nest of deceit, trickery. Children don't deserve that.

He's fighting for his child, but she's fighting for her life.

Callie's mouth trades in anger. Of course she is the one who needs to change, of course he is the perfect one now. He's ready, and she's stuck. He's willing, and she's tied to the past. "You're right," she agrees suddenly. "Maybe...it should be completely different this time. Maybe you should move out," she chokes at the end a little, playing her bluff.

"Wait- what?"

"You can't control me. And you don't get to tell me what I will and will not be doing Mark. I get that you're all whole and healed now, but...I'm not. I'm not! Move on and move out."

"I don't want to," Mark retorts childishly. This was supposed to be going the opposite direction. He was going to cuddle her when she cried, and rub her feet until she fell asleep. He was going to be there from day one as a father this time. They aren't meant to be nearly screaming at each other in the dead of night while other restaurant patrons slowly filter to their vehicles.

"Then I will," Callie decides. She smashes a hand into her small purse, retrieving her cellphone, dialing a familiar number. The operator tells her that a cab will be there shortly, but Mark hasn't stepped away yet. If anything he's gotten closer.

"Callie-" Mark reaches out for her, but receives a stern push against his chest, it serves as a temporary warning. "Cal, baby, this...is ridiculous. We...can talk about this," he repeats, months of therapy giving way to him not throwing a temper tantrum and taking off to squeal the wheels of his car in her face.

That was the old Mark. This is the new Mark, or rather the guy trying to be the new version. Temptation beckons him though.

"I don't want to talk! Why don't you get that? Why?" Callie yells at him, pacing toward the curb, hoping her driver knows the meaning of lightning fast.

"I didn't want to upset you," Mark reveals, looping a hesitant arm around her back. "Just...get in the car and we'll go home. Please. Please Callie," he begs, seeing the shine of headlights up the road.

"No more talking?"

"I promise," Mark agrees.

"Fine."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"I didn't mean to make you angry," Mark tells Callie when they arrive home, her climbing the stairs toward their room instantly. Sometimes he thinks it's a wonder they still sleep in the same bed.

"You didn't, don't worry," Callie replies, kicking out of her shoes, loosening the grip the rubberband has on her hair.

Despite her yelling, her proclamations of not needing to be taken care of only a short hour ago, Mark decides to accept the fact that she isn't genuinely upset with him. "I'm scared too," he comforts her.

"I'm not-" Callie begins, rolling her eyes. She's isn't scared, she's paralyzed with fear, and things haven't even really sunk in enough to comprehend.

"Nothing is going to happen this time."

"You don't know that," Callie reminds him. She's been unkind to her body lately, unkind to the child they created again and it's only been a few short weeks.

He doesn't know that, but it doesn't stop him from repeating it like a mantra. They've had enough, their turn is over, the bad has stopped. He has to believe it. "I know this is hard," Mark nods.

"You promised we wouldn't talk-"

"- but I just wanted to tell you that...I'm here. It may not feel like it sometimes Cal, but I can do this now. If you need anything..."

"I need to sleep," Callie interrupts curtly, slipping the sheets of the bed back and encasing them in darkness.

She doesn't reply to his sweet wishes of good dreams, she doesn't push his hand away when it comes to a rest on top of her no longer empty womb. The tears course into her pillow silently, having perfected the art of being quiet, and eventually she hears Mark's deep breathing, feels his shifting.

She doesn't sleep that night, but it's nothing new.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Callie swings her legs impatiently, kicking back against the exam table. She took Addison's advice, seeking out another professional opinion, and she's antsy as hell. It needs to start and be over all within the first second. And while she knows, intuitively, that everything is perfectly fine, a part of her wishes it wasn't.

A part of her needs that excuse, another reason to hate the world. It'd be easier, without this other life inside of her.

"Dr. Torres," Dr. Ferguson greets jovially, bounding up to shake her hand.

"Callie," she corrects. If they are going to be all up close and personal, they may as well be on the same page.

"Callie," he agrees. "Dr. Montgomery sent over your paperwork this morning. Everything looks good, but I'm going to run some more tests, just to be safe. You know the drill."

He prepares to draw blood, happiness not quite contained, and she can see that he thoroughly enjoys what he does for a living. It's refreshing, he's untainted by what he's experienced. "Do you have any questions for me?" he asks Callie, trying to distract her.

"I-no, well...it's just...before I knew...about this, I had a stupid night of drinking and I was wondering-"

Dr. Ferguson rubs her arm slowly, she's nervous, he can tell, and from Addison's briefing on the patient, on the situation, he is doing his level best to be supportive instead of critical. "We'll keep an eye on it Callie. Everything looks good for a three-week fetus, growth is consistent, heart rate is strong."

"Okay," Callie gulps, pushing down the stress. Mark should be here, but in light of last night, she feels it's better that he play with his burn victim instead. That's an emergency, this is not...yet. Besides he would fret over all that fake cramping that wasn't happening earlier in the week when this whole mess began. It was so much easier then, the lies are becoming so twisted in each other that she is having a hard time keeping them straight.

"I'll let you know if I see anything abnormal come up," he assures her.

"It's...it was a lot...of alcohol...I blacked out."

"Okay," Dr. Ferguson nods, making a quick notation in her chart before cautiously pressing down on her shoulder, trying to get her to lie back, and relax. "Stirrups," he instructs and she obeys willingly.

He pokes, prods, notes, and attempts to get her involved but Callie can't get her mind off that night. The absolute feeling of failure sets in by the time he snaps his gloves off, and she doesn't even know what she's been saying to him for the last thirty minutes, if anything.

She doesn't know how she can possibly go through with this knowing that there could eventually be something wrong with her child, and that it is, once again, all her fault.

"I'll see you in a few weeks Callie," Dr. Ferguson urges, trying to get her to come back to him. "If you need anything, please call me."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

After receiving what some would deem joyous news of her growing child safe and sound, Callie takes to the streets, this time content to walk the frozen sidewalks. She weaves in out of pedestrians, carefully avoiding their shopping bags and whiny children. Her thumb finds her mouth at the third stoplight, and she chews nervously until the glares of the group stop her.

Her mind spins madly in all different directions, different solutions, as her feet slowly propel her forward. It's inconceivable, keeping this child, the one she's given up on having for well over a month now. Irreversible damage has been done, and she knows enough to know she can't handle anything short of a perfectly healthy child in the future. She's not strong enough.

The thought of even spending another night awake changing diapers and struggling to stay awake for feedings is mind boggling. That's not her life anymore, not a part of the person she's become.

Conversely, there is Mark. He was doting, he was new, whole, changed. To take this from him after what they've gone through would be despicable of her and she's not the villain, she just can't stand to be hurt again, by either circumstance. The sun sets in the sky, barely noticeable behind the rain clouds that are trying to invade, and Callie shivers against the cool chill the wind brings with it. Her teeth begin to chatter, but she's stuck walking into the night. Alone.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

"Derek, please," Addison sighs, shooing him away with the flick of her wrist.

"Addie," he whines, hands working their way into her shoulder.

"Stop that, stop it," she insists, dropping her glasses on the table. "I need to work-" The baby's cries in the other room save her from explaining for the hundredth time why exactly it is important that she be up to speed when she returns at the end of next week. The doorbell, however, is an unwelcome addition to her noisy atmosphere. At the rate she's going she won't be ready before the end of the month, let alone in a few days. "Coming!" she shouts at the front door, check the clock on her way up the steps out of the living room. It's late, she's aware, but they've become rather nocturnal ever since Theadora's birth.

"Who is it?!" Derek yells, before she even has a chance to get to to her destination.

Addison ignores him in favor of finding out for herself. "Callie?"

"I don't know...," Callie sputters, shoving her hands in her pocket, the tiny sock balled up in her fist. She walked through town in her scrubs, lab coat fastened around her waist.

"Are you okay?" Addison asks, looking her over, drinking in her disheveled appearance.

"I'm leaving Mark."

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**

Sometimes the little things, they help. On occasion the ruined picture in Mark's hands can help him get through a night, a morning with Callie locked in the bathroom, her cries obvious through the thin walls. But there will be no help in the coming days as he scours the country trying to figure out where his girlfriend has taken off to. When Richard pulls him aside the following morning and asks him to explain why the hell there is a resignation letter in his hand, and if he can expect another one to follow.

Callie will willing give her sock, her refuge, away. She'll donate it to Thea when she loses one of hers out in the park, and when Addison asks where it came from, where it's mate is, Callie will never answer. Just like she won't answer her cellphone, she won't answer her voicemails, emails, and pages. Just like she won't answer her friends when they demand, threaten, and manipulate her into going back to Mark.

The meaning, the significance, behind tangible things eventually fades away. It dwindles until all that's there are the fuzzy memories of a time that feels so far away it's hard to imagine that it ever existed.

**_~-~-~-~-~-~_**


	15. More dead than alive

A/N: Long time no see, eh? So to be fair this is like...get a drink, take a nap first kind of long. And it's the last chapter. And I've been editing and editing and I figure if I don't let this go I will never stop fiddling with it. Last chapters are like that for me, especially this baby. Enjoy, if you can-

~-~-~-~-~-~  
More Dead Than Alive (Get Away From The Medicine)  
~-~-~-~-~-~

Mark's never been one to practice avoidance. Denial, possibly. But when life throws you a lemon, you hold your fist out to stop it from hitting you in the face, and then laugh at its failure. Sometimes it's painful and the ricochet steals the very breath from your chest. Sometimes it's exhilarating, just sidestepping the tragedy minutes before your demise, cheating fate. Either way, it cannot be dissuaded.

And because he's a fighter, and he believes that in order to move on the past must be handled, he will set up roadblocks. Call all of the hotels in town, even the sketchy ones no human should think of paying money for, and check in with the airlines. And after some heavy charming, be able to see if there is any suspicious activity on her bank account or credit cards. He will determine within a matter of hours, or twenty hours if he's being honest (twelve of those spent at work unknowingly living in the tornado that was building), that Callie is nowhere to be found.

He'll be two steps away from calling the police to fill out a missing persons report when he goes to Derek. He'll be four heart attacks away from letting his mind drift to the scenarios it wants to play and replay. And he'll be, literally, fifteen miles away from her physically, for the entire duration.

But never will he consider that maybe, just maybe, Callie is, for once, exactly where she needs to be. To heal, to repair, to step forward with her head held high instead of her shoulders slouched. Callie needs the freedom to allow things to come in their own time, Mark needs a constant shoulder to lean on, a steady column waiting for once in his life.

The tug-o-war was inevitable, two opposites pulling at their ends until the tension had no choice but to snap, to recoil with a backlash so deep it will never heal completely.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"I'm not letting you do this. I won't, I can't. You will not do this to him Callie!" Addison yells, pacing her living room floor in baggy sweats, her hair tangled in Theadora's grabby little fists. She's long since given up taking away her favorite play toy, even if it must force her to add a few extra aspirin to her daily routine.

"This isn't your choice," Callie mumbles under her tirade, kicking out of her untied running shoes. She left with nothing. Her purse, her worn down shoes, and a dirty pair of socks on her feet. It was impulsive.

But nothing has felt this right since Darren died. She hasn't felt alive until now. The alcohol, the smoking, the running, it was all futile in the face of how fast her heart is racing at this very moment.

"You can stay here tonight," Addison continues. "But first thing tomorrow morning Derek or I, or both of us...we're taking you home."

Callie rolls her eyes, drapes her aching limbs over the Shepherd's new coffee table and exhales. It's going to be a long night. It's going to be a long life. From this moment on out. She finally has a starting point, but it's coming at a hefty cost.

"That...it's not my home," Callie interjects as Addison gets louder, and Dora gets more uncomfortable with her mother's anxious posture. "It's a place we bought on a whim because Derek's stupid family was coming into town and Mark gets all nostalgic and it's...that's not even his family-"

"That's his family," Addison interrupts, but calmly takes a seat next to her, transferring Theadora to the ground.

"I don't know him," Callie jumps in, edging away from the sentimental. "Does he have siblings? Did he have a pet growing up? Where did he go to college? What's his favorite holiday? What's his take on religion, politics- nothing! It's like I've been living with a blank slate." Interesting though, she thinks a split second later, that even if she knows nothing about him technically, she really did feel like she knew him at one point or another. Maybe they were fooling each other, themselves, regardless.

Addison frowns. She has those answers. They were bestowed upon her, year after year. She worked hard to discover tidbits about the mystery man that was Derek's best friend in the "whole universe". But none of those stories are hers to tell. "You can't leave him," she says instead, firm in her position and tone.

"I already did."

"This will destroy him," Addison tells her confidently. Mark takes it more than personal when the few people he lets in his life willing waltz right back out. He has a shitty track record and no ambition, but he likes the ones he catches, and it hurts him no matter how much he thinks it doesn't. When Callie shrugs, Addison can feel her hatred begin to build. She likes the dark haired Ortho surgeon, considers her a close friend, but Mark is...Mark, and there's a loyalty there that can only be sacrificed in place of her devotion to her husband. "What about the baby? Are you going to take another child from him Callie?"

"I didn't take the first one," Callie seethes, backing away.

"No, I didn't mean..." Addison pauses, foot planted securely in her mouth. It's still tender, she forgets. Everyone does. "You waited a long time to tell him about...that, you robbed him of that knowledge and you hoarded it. I understand, I do, but, this is unfair, to Mark and you. And I can't...I can't let you do this. You will regret this."

"You're not my mother," Callie shoots back childishly, wrought with guilt, and pain. Grappling against the harsh words that people like to hurl at her, thinking that it bounces off. She absorbs. It's all there still, stuck in her. A fly wriggling in its trap, she shivers trying to escape their truths.

"This is my house," Addison gestures, finally finding time to fix her wild ponytail, and then snatching Theadora off the carpet when she begins to squawk about one thing or another.

"Do you want me to go somewhere else?" Callie challenges, bravado coursing through her system. She finally got the upper hand in something. "I hear that Canada is really nice this time of year."

Addison huffs when her child demands that something be done about the situation of her empty stomach, and lamely throws on a, "This isn't over" as she leaves the room, headed for the shelter and safety of the pale lavender nursery.

She only knows now what she knew when she opened the door. Her hands are tightly bound behind her back.

Callie may be the victor yet again, but she's tired of playing the pawn.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"What do you want me to do Addison?" Derek asks, tugging on the roots of his frayed hair. "Storm into his house dragging Callie behind me? I can't return something that has no desire to go back."

"Mark needs her," Addison argues. She doesn't know what she wants done exactly, she just knows she doesn't want to be in the middle of it anymore. "We have to do something."

"Maybe Callie needs space," Derek informs her, turning down their bed, flicking off the lamp on his side, as hers stays annoyingly bright.

"You would say that. You would take that stance," Addison decides angrily, tossing a throw pillow across the room instead of adding it to the unstable pile in the corner.

"Hey! I'm not saying I like this anymore than you do, but Callie's your friend too, and you have to respect her choices. Support her."

"Like you'd know anything about supporting-"

"This is not about us," he reminds her plainly, knowing after all these years of Addison freakouts, that this is not aimed at him. He's just collateral damage.

"We have to do something," she repeats, squelching the fire burning inside.

"Sleep on it," Derek advises, kissing her temple and rolling away from the light that floods the room. He hears her sigh, flip open her reading material, sigh again, and eventually prop her glasses upon their perch.

They both know she'll spend the night analyzing, strategizing, and manipulating possible outcomes until rest creeps up on her and she is forced to retire. Derek's just smart enough to realize immediately what role he will be playing in the coming months. Wingman, best man, best friend, brother.

It's his turn to step up, to prove that the past is nothing more than a forgotten memory.

~-~-~-~-~-~

In his haze, Mark remembers coming home to a mostly darkened home. The kitchen light was on, there was a cup in the sink. Her laundry was in the dryer, the timer went off as he hiked the newly carpeted stairs (he was renovating, for their new life, a safer life). When he didn't see her, when she didn't respond when he called her, Mark simply assumed she was out and drown himself in a scalding shower before promptly collapsing onto their bed after another hard shift. The one year anniversary was approaching more rapidly than he would like, and he found himself asleep, wrapped in the memories of his son, his short life.

He awakens naked, disoriented, to the sound of his pager buzzing across the room. His rest was splattered with real events from his past and the haunting images of his imagination's renditions. Some would call it a nightmare, but it was too realistic to be anything but a hallucination. He shakes his head, running a rough palm over his face and falls out of bed, tangled in the sheets. By the time he reaches his pager it's long since done blaring through the barren room, but the message is not. Another 911 has him scrambling for a pair of dirty jeans and gray sweater to ward off the chilly spring air.

He barely has time to see if Callie has come home and already left again, and no time to register the evidence to the contrary.

~-~-~-~-~-~

It's not until lunch, until after an agonizing burn case has toyed with his fragile emotions that his stomach starts to sense something is off. He always thought these premonitions were strictly a Derek thing, he now has a hunch that it has something to do with caring for someone deeply. So he calls, and pages her, and begins ruffling the feathers of his coworkers for information.

"A mocha latte for the lady," Mark says, sliding the hot cup across the counter.

"What do you want Sloan?" Miranda Bailey barks, not bothering to look up before snatching the caffeine off the counter and taking a refreshing gulp.

"Have you seen Callie?" He bites his lip stupidly, a nervous trait that has to belong to someone else. He doesn't know when he turned into this man.

"Not today," Miranda answers before pausing. "Not since...Wednesday I guess it was. How is she?"

But she doesn't receive an answer because Mark's already busy chasing Meredith Grey down the hall, begging for answers.

It can't end like this.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Derek, is she here man? Please tell me Callie has been here," Mark spills worriedly, having rushed over after pushing his last surgery to tomorrow. In between rounds he was able to establish that she hasn't checked into a hotel, and thanks to Meredith's interns he's been able to ascertain that she also hasn't used her checking or savings accounts for anything. He handled all outgoing flights himself, and the only solution he has is here.

He needs Derek to be his savior, he needs his last words with Callie to not have been the truth, that she was leaving him.

"Come in," Derek says patiently. "Addie! Mark is here," he yells across the house, the redhead joining them in the living room with two beers and his pseudo goddaughter.

"Here," Derek smiles, taking Dora from his wife, "Hold her. She makes things better."

"I don't- have you seen Callie, yes or no?" Mark demands, pacing the floor and accepting Thea even though the last thing he wants is someone else's baby in his arms. Thea, unfortunately, can sense the tension and begins screaming before she can get settled. And to everyone's great surprise, except Mark's, he is able to comfort her faster than Addison can rise from the couch. He patiently soothes her back, her tiny lips falling on his neck as she grabs at his shirt disappointed. It's second nature for him to sway over the cream rug, to turn her around so she doesn't get frustrated by the lack of view his shoulder provides.

"Mark," Derek begins, taking a stern elbow in the ribs from his wife as a precursor to the things she will do to him later if he blows this. "She hasn't been here-"

"Miranda called," Addison cuts him off, "and said you were losing it all over everyone at the hospital. Why don't you stay for dinner?"

"I ca-n't," Mark stutters. "I have to find Callie."

"Maybe she checked into a hotel somewhere," Derek offers lamely, receiving a harsh glare from Addison. He loves how she thinks she knows what she's doing, but he'll fix this. He has to. Because he was the last person to play with Darren, because he was the reason Mark never had his first child.

"I called," Mark gulps. "She's gone."

"Did you call her parents?" Addison asks, replacing her daughter with the cold beer she took out of the refrigerator to calm him. He could use a drink. At least one. She has the benefit of foresight here.

"I don't know their number," Mark pouts, sipping his drink, feeling the pit of his stomach revolt from anticipation, let down, and fraying nerves.

"I'll get it," Addison tells him, "And I'll order dinner. Chinese good?"

"I feel sick," Mark refutes, but falls into a twisted heap on the couch as she struts away.

"Mark," Derek says softly, sure that his wife is out of earshot. "I have to tell you something."

"Was she here?" Mark asks, his hope utterly tangible.

Addison may not be able to do this, but he is. He has to. "Callie is here," he places a hand over Mark's mouth so he can't speak. "She doesn't want you to know, and I know that hurts, but Addie can't say anything and I...don't want you killing yourself trying to find her all night. She's safe."

"Is she upstairs?" Mark mumbles, working his mouth free of Derek's salty palm. He wanted to bite him, clench down on the warm, meaty flesh that was stopping him from seeing Callie but Derek's words halted him. Callie doesn't want him to know she's here.

Callie doesn't want him. And as the betrayal of rejection settles in he leans forward, bile already rising in his throat.

"It's going to be okay," Derek says confidently, patting Mark's back as his friend gulps back the vomit. "She just needs time Mark. Give her some space, and she'll come back. She loves you."

"I really loved her," Mark mourns. He loved her enough to buy a stupid house and rip out the weed ridden backyard and replace it with fresh sod, his shirt soaked in sweat and dirt when he finished last weekend while she hid away in operating rooms. He loved her enough to stand by all of the crazy antics she's pulled because at the end of the day he knows she's hurting, and he wants a chance to tell say he is as well. Mostly though, because sometimes she'll wedge her head into that one spot where his neck meets his shoulder, sighing, her hair tickling his skin, and it makes everything all better.

Sometimes she needs him too. Tonight is not one of those times.

"She'll come back Mark," Derek soothes, hearing Addison come back downstairs, after presumably telling Callie not to move an inch.

"Give her time," Mark repeats, standing abruptly.

"Mark," Addison calls out, the phone pressed to her cheek, "You want rice or noodles?"

"I have to go," Mark says, not realizing he's whispering and hurriedly brushes by Addison on the way out.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"What did you do?" Addison interrogates, Derek still lounging on the couch, finishing off his drink. He can't wait until she'll take some alcohol in again, she's absolutely on edge. And if he weren't so hell bent on being the better man this go around he'd have left with Mark and gone out to throw some darts or something.

"Nothin'," Derek answers, turning the volume up on the television.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing Addie, calm down. Everything is fine." He reaches out for her hand, pulling her down to his level.

"I hate this. Hate," Addison breathes into his shoulder. "I hate keeping secrets, I hate covering up for people- it just-"

"I know," Derek interrupts smoothly, another crisis avoided. He may be the loon by the end of this though, dealing with these women.

"Think he'll be okay?"

"He's Mark," Derek replies. Unfortunately the comforting idea that he's...Mark is exactly the thing that has Addison worried.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"If you're hungry," Derek elaborates, Callie's eyes boring into him as he enters the guest room, a tray of food covering his shaking hands.

"That smells horrible," Callie tells him, struck by how upset her stomach is already.

"I can take it away," Derek suggests, backing toward the door. He and Callie haven't had much conversation in the passing days since Mark's frantic visit. They share an occasional cup of coffee, much to Addison's displeasure, in the morning, and he hands her the parts of the paper he doesn't want in absolute silence. But between Addison and Dora and the madness of the hospital he doesn't have much time for their newest shut-in.

"No," Callie stops him, tossing her reading material off to the side. "Leave it," she encourages, Derek already dropping the pizza on the end of the bed. "I'm going out."

"Okay," Derek nods apprehensively. Addison isn't going to like this, because apparently Addison wants a prisoner of war, and Callie still thinks she has freedom. It's like watching an unprepared student try to break a wild horse. "Hey Callie?"

"Yeah," she grunts, shrugging on her leather coat that Addison confiscated from her locker for her last week.

"Do you...could you maybe watch Dora for us tomorrow? Addison's shift overlaps with mine by a few hours and I was supposed to find someone, but I couldn't and the nursery has had a bunch of sick kids in it all week so Addison will kill me if I leave her there."

"I don't think that's a good idea-"

"We trust you Callie, with her. You'll be fine, and I'd really appreciate it."

"Fine, I guess," Callie withdraws. Maybe Thea will sleep the whole time, she is getting better at that, not that Callie minds the shrill cries in the middle of the night. It's not like she's sleeping.

"Thank you, really. And...we'll keep this," Derek gestures between them, "to ourselves. Addison is already in bed."

Derek's one foot out the door when he hears her question. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" she asks again when he turns around.

"I don't know what's right," Derek shrugs. "I can't fathom being in your position, but you're surviving, and that's what counts."

"Thanks," Callie frowns, tears building in her eyes as she stumbles past him and toward the front door.

Surviving really isn't as appealing as it's cracked up to be.

~-~-~-~-~-~

With a bottle of vodka in one hand and her keys in the other Callie watches the house she used to inhabit from the other side of the street under the safety of a cloudy black night. The taxi driver seems annoyed that she won't get out or tell him that it's okay to move but she doesn't care. She's frozen.

Frozen like the stiff petals of the red flowers that line the walkway she used to stroll everyday, frozen like the puddle of water she always stepped in on her way to the car.

Everything screams to just get out, run inside, and hide under Mark's safe arms. To tell him how terrifying this is, how she never meant to hurt him, how it all spiraled out of control so quickly that she couldn't do anything but react. She wants to burst inside the front door and make everything right again. She wants him to brush her hair behind her ear the way he does, and tell her that this time is going to be different.

But she doesn't know how, so she sits, watching the houselights turn off one by one, fingers itching to twist the cap on her drink. She reaches hesitantly for the door handle and then pulls back at least twenty times.

"Don't spill that," the driver warns her sternly.

"Take me back," Callie instructs, inhaling the pungent scent of her escape.

"Whatever you say lady," the driver remarks, shaking his head, car shifting into gear.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Addison," Callie whispers loudly, rushing into Derek and Addison's darkened room without care for their privacy. Desperate times call for desperate measures. The bedside lamp flicks on instantly, Derek rubbing his eyes, his bare chest revealed by the fallen sheet.

"Callie, what's wrong?"

"Cal?" Addison mumbles, tongue still fuzzy from the two hours of sleep she's managed. Out of the corner of her eye she can see something hanging behind Callie's back, but it's the abandoned look in her eyes that has Addison beckoning her forward with an ushering hand. "Derek, give us a minute."

"Ok," Derek yawns, wisely taking his pillow with him as he goes to seek another place to rest for the night.

"What happened?" Addison asks drowsily, sleep still begging her to come back. The opened bottle falls into her lap, and her jaw slackens in revulsion. "Tell me you didn't."

"I went out," Callie begins. "I needed air. I'm so sick of being cooped up, so I was going to go to the hospital, clean out my stuff, put my official notice in with Patricia but...I got sidetracked and the next thing I know I'm watching Mark through the windows..."

"Did you-"

"I wanted to-"

"You smell like smoke," Addison observes as her friend flops down onto the fresh sheets.

"I had to," Callie argues frantically. "If I didn't...I would've done something else, something I really don't want to do...but I can't help it anymore-"

"Callie, how much did you drink?"

"Joe wouldn't serve me," Callie replies, and for once Addison is pleased with the gossip mill that is Seattle Grace. "So I went to the liquor store...I can't do this! I can't have another child-"

"So you're going to drown it in vodka?" Addison accuses rudely, swinging the bottle in front of her friend's face. She doesn't know how to make this more serious for her, how to make her understand that the pain she feels everyday can be magnified tenfold if she screws this up.

"I didn't," Callie fumbles, toying with the hem of the comforter. She got too much fresh air, too much perspective. "I can't do this. I can't keep...it like this."

"Callie!" Addison yells suddenly, overwhelmed by the scene unfolding in front of her. She's two steps for asking for a real abortion and it's not something Addison can manage for her.

"I need my friend," Callie shouts back. "I don't...need another mother, or a doctor constantly harping on me. I need my friend back." As the truth comes tumbling out, something rare, Callie can feel the pressure build within until her cheeks are laced with water, her nose stuffier with each syllable. "I could have gone anywhere in the world Addison. If I wanted my mother I would have gone home...but I came here, I wanted you okay? And I know I treated you like shit, I treat everyone like shit, just ask Mark but...I need you right now."

"Okay," Addison nods, her own tears beginning to drown her eyes, certain that Derek is going to try and come back to bed any second now and discover this pathetic travesty. In her defense, it's late and she isn't sleeping much lately between work and her child's incessant need to prove that she's still alive since she moved into her own crib down the hall.

"I need you to help me, not yell at me and tell me I'm doing the wrong thing...because most of the time I wake up and want to die but I'm too big of a coward to take any proactive steps toward that goal, so I'm stuck alive. And I'm scared...that this is going to end badly, and I can't have another thing that ends badly in my life. I just can't," Callie cries, pulling on her own hair roughly, trying to find something to hold.

"True," Addison grins through the emotion that's swarming, tucking the bottle away on the nightstand and pulling her friend into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry that I've been such a....I was just trying to protect you from yourself."

"I know," Callie gulps. "And I need that but I need this more. I need someone on my side even if I don't deserve it."

"I'm always on your side Cal," Addison reminds her, even at their worst falling out, she still would have done anything.

"Someone has to be," Callie sniffles, pulling away finally, the human contact much desired after her self-imposed stint in isolation. "Derek asked me to watch Thea tomorrow, and I don't think I can do that yet."

"It's fine," Addison says wiping her own cheeks. "I swear that man does only thirty percent of the things I ask him to."

"Can you...talk to me?" Callie licks her lips, trying to explain. "Tell me something, what's going on with you lately...I need a break. I need to get outside of my own head for a while. I need to stop thinking...about me."

"Yeah," Addison smiles, patting the pillow. They both lay back, rolling over to face each other, tentative peace smothering the room with its steadiness. It will all blow up again, it's how they operate, but for now she's happy to oblige. "Well work is exactly the same, just a different group of know-it-all interns. Karev asked about you the other day, I told him you were probably fine. Mark-" Addison stops when Callie shakes her head. "Derek wants another baby," she tries instead, work a decidedly bad topic. "And I think it's too soon but he says our window is rapidly closing...and we tried so hard for Theadora, and I just got back to work and I don't want to turn around and leave again...so that's what all the yelling has been about. I'm sure you've heard us."

"Once or twice," Callie grins, pulling her tangled black curls out from under her head, snuggling into the pillow. Oh God, she misses this. Addison whining about her life, her men, all of it.

She misses being this person, this friend to someone. She misses being someone she can recognize amongst the wreckage.

"And Derek's family is talking about coming back out sometime this summer, fair warning. Carolyn misses having a baby to moon over. Speaking of, my child hates me, I think-"

"She doesn't," Callie laughs, but the girl definitely has her father wrapped around her little finger.

"But that's basically it, besides all the work drama. Miranda sends her love by the way."

"You told! You snitch!" Callie teases, but it's Bailey, she's as safe as a vault.

"I never said a word," Addison tells her friend. There may have been a few hand gestures and nods, but nothing verbal, that's far too dangerous in a place like Seattle Grace.

"She's good like that," Callie agrees, rolling onto her back. "I miss her," Callie says, thinking aloud, but this is the only way she can think to start over. "This baby will be okay, right?" Callie asks, her hand finding her still flat stomach. She's kept up her running, the Shepherds having a far easier neighborhood layout to master, but if her last pregnancy was any indication, she'll be showing far earlier than she wants to be.

"I will do everything in my power," Addison assures her. Medically, personally, and otherwise. Because they need a break, it's time for the storm clouds to go rain over another couples head for a while. "But Callie, we have to make some changes."

"I know," Callie whispers, fingers pushing her shirt aside until they find her bare stomach. She hasn't allowed herself to think about it too much, for fear of a heart attack, but for a moment the idea of another one of her and Mark's babies growing safely inside her is comforting, not frightening. She hears Addison tell her to stay where she is, offering her one of the extra pillows that was laying at the end of the bed, remarking over how a night on the couch won't kill Derek.

"Addison?" Callie squeaks, unsure if her friend, facing away from her, is asleep yet. To her astonishment, Addison answers in a notably clear voice. "I can watch Thea, I want to try...if that's all right with you."

"If you're sure," Addison smiles, squinting at the alarm clock a few feet away. She has to be up in three hours and Thea should be screaming for her nightly feeding any minute now, but it's all worth it.

The road to recovery is paved with many late nights, many early mornings of self-discovery and rehabilitation, she knows all too well.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"This is stupid," Mark moans into his scotch, "I should go after her."

"Yeah, go rescue her from Satan's lair," Cristina snarls sloppily, spilling her drink on the bar top, Joe whipping out his rag as the last two of his customers drown their sorrows over a certain raven haired doctor who he happens to know is still in town (and really, so does everyone else). It's the worst kept secret.

"I miss her," Mark whispers to himself. Her clothes are still on the ground, her fingernail polish still on the bathroom counter, but it's different. He's been trying to busy himself with the house renovations until she comes home but he's almost done with the backyard, and he ordered the paint to cover the stupid sea turtles in the nursery on Monday. Rapidly running out of things to change, and a reason to live, Mark decided to take Yang up on her offer of drinks when she said that he looked like hell puked up a hairball named Sloan. He could use a good shave, but it's pointless.

His appearance was kept fastidiously after Darren died, it had to be. He was the strong one, the one people were going to lean on, so he had to look the part (even when Callie broke free and sprinted the other direction). But now, now his hair is two inches too long, and his scruff has turned into a full on beard that itches like crazy at night when he rolls over onto her side of the bed trying to scratch out any of the scent that may still be lingering. He could survive losing his son, but he can't live without Callie.

He's pathetic. So he drinks.

"You suck, worse than Meredith," Cristina remarks offhandedly, reaching for her coat on the back of the chair. "Both of you should start a club and be all piny together."

Mark just gulps down the last of his alcohol, letting it sail smoothly down to join the rest, no longer burning his throat and reaches for his keys.

"You're not driving," Joe tells him.

"I'm fine," Mark brushes off. "What about Yang?"

"She walks, and she lives close. I'll call you a cab."

"Thanks Joe," Mark replies, swaying on his barstool, eyeing the empty dart board in the corner. While he waits he picks up a few darts, weighing them in his hand and then angrily throws them forward, the sheer pressure forcing them to ricochet out of the bulls-eye and onto the ground.

It only propels him.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"I want to see her!" Mark demands noisily, trying to barrel past Derek. "Let me in!"

"Mark," Derek warns, "You're going to get us both in trouble."

He saw this coming, he's his best friend, but he didn't foresee not being able to muscle him out of the doorway. As he shoves him back Mark's strong left hook catches him in the jaw. It's uncalled for, but he gets it. They only ever injure each other over women. He takes a few more hits as Mark wedges himself into the hallway, sweeping Derek's feet out from underneath him and sending them both soaring toward Addison's pointy heels.

When they land, Mark forcing the air out of Derek's lungs, the impact of what they're doing settles in. As does the spike of Addison's shoe in the center of Mark's back.

Derek closes his eyes, rolling out from underneath Mark while clutching his ribs, avoiding his wife's furious glare.

"Get out Mark," Addison instructs.

"I want Callie! Callie! Come down here!" Mark shouts loudly, eyes fluttering over the room for her.

"Even if she was here, which she isn't, I wouldn't let her see you like this. Go home, shave that caterpillar off your face, and get some sleep."

"Come on Addie," Mark pleads pathetically, alcohol switching through his gears quickly. "I wanna see her, please...Callie! Calliope! Cal! I need her today, please!"

He continues shouting out her name until he's ass down on the porch, the front door secured behind him. He made it through work grumbling about the interns, and doing sutures in the pit when he had nothing better to keep his mind occupied, but now he's all alone and there's nothing else to do but keep replaying the events of that morning a year ago, the sound of Callie's voice echoing hollowly, and how he was completely and utterly useless. He can't help but feel the weight of his dead son in his arms, and he can't wash it clean.

"Here," Derek mumbles, handing him the ice pack for his head, which took a pretty hard knock as they tumbled to the ground.

Mark bats it out of his grasp, sending it flying into the grass, before burying his face in his hands, attempting to get the images of Darren out of his head. "I want Callie, we should be together today," he blubbers, too drunk to care that he's crying in front of Derek, not drunk enough to feel numb. He didn't even run into her at the grave site earlier, as they had a tendency of doing shortly after Darren was buried.

"Yeah well, after the spectacle you just caused we may as well both leave for the night. Addison's pissed," Derek informs him, placing his own ice under his left eye, already swollen and bruised.

"I don't care, Addison's always angry about something," Mark replies childishly. "Callie!"

"This is unbecoming," Derek snickers, before taking pity on him. "Here," he offers, working a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded paper and tossing it in Mark's lap. "She's doing better."

Mark unfolds it patiently, sacredly, revealing a sonogram of a fuzzy thing he presumes to be his child. "That's my baby," he grins, wiping the water off his cheeks, tracing over the details.

Technically, it's the first sonogram of Dora that he and Addison got, cropped so he could always carry it in his wallet, but Mark doesn't need to know that. They all look the same anyway, and Addison's name has been chopped off. Sometimes one has to lie for the greater good, and allowing Mark to see Callie like this will only negate all of the progress they've both made.

"She's going to come back?" Mark asks his friend, sealing his last string of hope and stuffing it in his jeans. He has a new picture to join the old one. Something else to cling to.

It'll hold him over for a while longer.

"Yeah," Derek sighs. "She'll come back."

But with each passing day, every week that skips by, Derek's less certain. Callie's coming alive again, in full bloom, giggling with Dora, and shopping with Addison for new shoes and things they don't need. She looks happier than she has since Darren died, and Derek's starting to believe that it may be due, in part, to her recent escape from their relationship. Sometimes it's easier to get on with life when you don't have a living, breathing reminder of how it used to be. Then again, she could just need the time to re-center and focus.

It's hard to say, so he won't.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"You said you were going to stop," Addison reminds Callie, stepping out into the cool night air, waving a hand in front of her face to move the smoke.

"I'm trying," Callie tells her, and it's the truth, but sometimes she needs to chase away the dragons in her mind, in her heart, and since she can't get plastered drunk without getting her ass kicked to the curb, she smokes. It's getting rarer, but she's not healed by any stretch of the imagination so she deems it acceptable. Besides hearing Mark sobbing outside of her window has her stomach wound into a knot.

"Gimme," Addison sighs, taking the stick between her fingers and to Callie's great surprise takes a drag before stomping it out. "Oh," Addison huffs, smoke trailing out of her mouth, "That was rough."

"It's a rough day," Callie notes, the one year anniversary. But it's better here. There are baby socks but they are pink instead of blue, and there are tiny outfits but they have flowers instead of trucks. Everything is different, she's doused in denial. On vacation, and she finds it doesn't hurt nearly as bad in her safe little bubble, surrounded by a few select people.

There's a palpable level of guilt, however, that comes with being emotionless on the one day you should be curled up in a corner trying to kill yourself.

"It's getting better," Addison tells her, winding an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "We could go wrack up some noise on Derek's card, he deserves it."

"No," Callie shakes her head. "I just want to be alone for a while tonight."

She didn't have the opportunity to be herself all day, because she's sort of turned into their nanny. They've long since stopped asking if it was okay to unload Thea on her because she's long since stopped minding. Thea keeps her busy, keeps her on her toes. There's no time to wind up into a ball and sob her lungs out when a baby needs to be fed or rocked or put to sleep. There's no time for pity when a load of laundry needs to be folded, when she needs to run out for diapers.

And she never in a million years thought it would come to this, that running other people's errands (groceries and dry cleaning) would somehow quell the raging storm within her, but it has. She has purpose, and pathetically, it works. And it's almost cathartic, holding someone else's baby, knowing that she won't kill this one.

Tonight, though, tonight she wants to snuggle up under her pillow and try, for her son. Cry until she can't breathe, or until she pukes, which has increased dramatically in the last month, a sign that her child is healthy within. She owes him this, a day set aside for specifically remembering the way he would gurgle at his curtains, or how he would always wind a fist through her knotted hair.

"Do you want me to order you dinner or anything?"

"No," Callie replies, dropping her head onto her friend's shoulder, gasping at the clear June night above them. The stars wiggle against their velvet backdrop, and she can't remember the last time she saw a constellation in whole. "I'll come down and grab something if I get hungry."

Everything is completely different, and yet it's exactly the same.

"You really want to be alone?" Addison asks again, because sometimes she says she does and Derek will worm his way into her self-imposed depression and everything turns out all right. "We could watch a movie, order pizza, get fat together?"

Callie laughs to herself, she's yet to get overly fat, but there's definitely some noticeable differences. "I'll be fine, I promise."

"Okay, but if you need me-"

"I'll follow the trail of tears-"

"She really does hate me, that's not funny."

"Better have a boy next time then," Callie warns Addison, Derek even haven pulled her into one of their infamous "discussions" that landed him on the couch for a week. They spent the following morning commiserating over Addison's failed expeditions as a mother, and sipping a strong cup of coffee, to make him feel better.

"Night Cal."

~-~-~-~-~-~

True to her word, the emotion overtakes her thirty minutes later, but instead of trying to slip on her running shoes or sneak a bottle of Derek's scotch into her room, Callie draws a warm bubble bath and accepts the hurt, the anger she's repressed over the universe stealing her child. Her baby who had never done anything to anyone, he was owed the chance to live, and that's the thing that still gets to her the most.

That something so wonderful could be gone, she doesn't know why it had to exist at all. And that burn never seems to fade.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"If she doesn't want to get out of bed, she doesn't want to get out of bed, leave her alone Addison. Stop meddling in other people's problems," Derek says, still enraged about half the night she kept him outside. He thought they were past this childishness, her monitoring Callie, but apparently he's wrong.

"I'm not meddling-"

"You are," Derek rolls his eyes, rifling through the closet for a shirt, behind schedule. "You're incessant need to fix everything and everyone is-"

"Stop!" Addison yells. "You're angry, I got it."

"You left me out in the rain like a newspaper-"

"You told Mark she was here!"

"Guys?" Callie squeaks, poking her head through the cracked door.

"I could have gotten sick, I could be getting sick-"

"Oh come on Derek-"

"Addison?" Callie tries again, the couple still facing away from her, dealing with their separate wardrobe issues. Derek fumbling with his belt, Addison trying to climb into her shoes.

"And then I'll get Dora sick and you'll be angry because you can never calm her down-"

"Hey!" Callie yells, resorting to her last option, finally garnering their attention.

"Look," Derek snarls, "She's out of bed. You get what you want, like always."

"I'm...cramping," Callie explains awkwardly, even if Derek is a renown doctor, searching for Addison's help. "And spotting, a little. It might be nothing-"

And the sick part of her, the residual disturbed part wanted never to say anything all. Let whatever was going to happen, happen. Let the world take another one of her children if that's what it wanted, what the hell does she care?

Except she kind of is attached to this new beginning (not the child itself), and despite her best efforts, she's terrified that it will all be for naught.

"Are you pain?" Addison asks, looking her over, analyzing every strand of hair that's out of place.

"No...not really," Callie replies trying to remember what it was like the first time. But she's spent so long attempting to forget that situation that the comparison is easily lost.

"We should go check it out Cal," Addison advises, tucking an earring through its hole.

"I can't...go there-"

"Callie," Addison says seriously, "As your doctor this isn't a negotiation. As your friend I understand and we will take every available precaution to ensure that you don't run into him. Derek-"

"Nope-"

"Please?" Callie asks, her eyes already watering in anticipation of this summer's newest disappointment. June is such a bitch of a month.

"Fine, I'll...distract Mark if he's out of surgery," Derek folds easily. Fighting takes too much energy anyway, and it'll be a welcome hide out from people asking him if Addison finally got violent enough to punch him, his face varying shades of purple, random levels of puffiness.

~-~-~-~-~-~

Callie chews her lip impatiently, simultaneously ripping her cuticles to shreds. She didn't think she cared this much, she honestly didn't think she'd mind if it went one way or the other, but lying here waiting is killing her. Which, she reasons, is completely different from actually caring about the outcome, but regardless Addison has been gone for what feels like an eternity, her IV is almost dry, and with each passing second she gets more and more concerned that Mark is going to waltz in.

Maybe the redhead is out there pacing the halls trying to figure out a way to tell Callie that this isn't going to work out, maybe she knows nothing yet and is guarding the door, or maybe she got roped into another patient while she was on the floor.

The sheer magnitude of the situation reduces her to tears. She left her job, her man, her home to try and figure this all out, to try and get better. And now, it's all going to come crumbling down.

All of her hard work, throwing the addictions out, it's going to be for nothing. Simply breathing hasn't hurt this much in such a long time but the pain settles over her like a warm blanket, an old friend welcoming, beckoning her to pull up a chair and stay a while.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Addison is going to kill me," Derek mourns, sneaking around the corner, motioning to Mark to follow when the coast is clear. "If anyone asks, you were looking for your patient and...found Callie."

"No one will ask," Mark laments. No one talks to him anymore, they avoid him. He's nothing these days.

"If they do," Derek secures.

"You had nothing to do with it," Mark mumbles in compliance, his head still pounding from the previous night's adventures in failure. "About your face-"

"You're going to have to get through the nurses-" Derek interrupts, he doesn't want Mark's apologies. Plus he kind of feels like a bad ass walking around with his injuries. The attention is flattering.

"No one bugs me anymore," Mark tells him, he isn't kidding.

He's a ghost wandering the halls, a lost soul set out to sea, never to return.

Mark stops just short of the door Derek told him belongs to Callie. She didn't call him. She hasn't informed him that anything may be wrong. Maybe she wants him to know but doesn't know how to pick up the phone, or maybe she doesn't care. Maybe she doesn't want to worry him.

He's sick of justifying it though, he's tired of waiting on pins and needles for her to grow up.

He gulps back the lump forming in his throat, gives himself a mental pat on the back, and promptly turns on his heel. He can't do this anymore, chasing his tail. Once upon a time he used to know better.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Ever hear of aiding and abetting?" Addison asks, resting her elbows on the counter next to her husband.

"He didn't go in," Derek tells her sullenly. "I'm so over this-"

"Try doing it while growing your spawn," Addison retorts, raising her eyebrows when his face jumps. "You will tell no one, understand? No. One." The unfortunate set of circumstances Callie has fallen into, and her increasing age, have Addison on a frightening roller coaster of all the things that may go wrong before she makes it safely through the next few months. At first, last week when she finally gave into annoying self, she thought it'd be fun to have kids together. To be able to go through this again with a friend, now she just feels like vomiting all over Derek's shoes.

"How's Callie?" Derek asks gleefully, toes begging to dance. He wasn't sure he'd win out on this, but he has, and it almost negates the hours he spent in a torrential downpour last night. Which, if he knows his wife, was exactly her intent in telling.

"I don't know," Addison breathes, burying her hands in her lightly curled hair. "I can't be responsible for this happening again."

"Addison-"

"I'm going to go annoy the lab guy, see if he'll hurry up," Addison dismisses, walking away before Derek can get in another word.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"She doesn't know anything yet," Derek tells Mark, meeting him at the O.R. board.

"Don't care," Mark replies.

"You care," Derek scoffs, rubbing the heel of his running shoe on the ground.

"I know rejection when I see it," Mark says, his hands on his hips, looking for something he can scrub in on to get his mind off of this. Maybe Miranda Bailey will take pity on him.

"Mark, don't do this. Don't be...that guy who runs-"

"Says the pro," Mark battles. He'll let it get ugly, he'll take out his months worth of frustration on Derek, if that's what he wants, if he keeps pushing this.

Instead, smartly, Derek heads towards the stairs having learned something over the last decade. Mark won't be reasoned with when he's like this.

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Addison," Callie gripes, her friend softly closing the door. "I didn't mean for this to happen, I swear." Of all the times she thought that this shouldn't be, last night wasn't one of them. "You have to believe me."

Addison pulls up the stool, letting the wheels roll slowly, as she inhales deeply. "I believe you," Addison smiles, placing her hand on Callie's arm calmly. Even if she didn't, she wouldn't say so.

"Addie?"

"Everything on the tests I've gotten back so far looks normal," Addison sighs. She isn't relieved. It's easier when there's a culprit she can pinpoint. "Your cervix is still closed, placenta looks good. I'm not sure yet."

"I'm fine?"

"You're not fine," Addison protests. "No more coffee, no more midnight cigarettes, no more extraneous exercising, you have to promise me. I don't want to keep testing fate."

"Okay," Callie agrees. She can do it, maybe.

"You will take it easy-"

"Scout's honor," Callie mumbles to herself.

"I want to get a good look at what's going on in there again, so you're just going to have to deal with me being overly thorough," Addison explains, sliding over to the ultrasound machine. Maybe she missed something the first time, her hands were begging to shake under the pressure. If she loses this child, it will be hell.

"It's fine," Callie admits, eyes fixating on the interesting pattern of the ceiling tiles above. No one in the room is expecting her to look, and for once she's glad that Addison took her back because there's no guilt in here, no blame.

"And..." Addison clears her throat, buying time because Callie will flip her lid. "I'm admitting you."

~-~-~-~-~-~

"You can't just pretend she isn't here," Alex remarks the following day, scratching into another one of Addison's charts as Mark reclines in the chair behind the nurse's station. "Don't be a dick dude."

"Don't call me dude," Mark counters, taking his feet off of the table, preparing to walk away.

"You know she's scared shitless, and it's not like you aren't wandering the halls aimlessly, trying to think of reasons not to go in. So she didn't call, so what? Be a man."

"It's not any of your business," Mark informs him, stalling in his steps.

"Your moping is contagious, and it's annoying, so it is my business," Alex replies lamely, looking at the chart again.

"You're Addison's little minion again," Mark notes, the redhead finally back in full swing.

"Dude-"

"Shut up Karev before I put your annoying mouth through a wall," Mark scowls, marching away, enough time ticked off the clock above his head so that he can go scrub in and not be insanely early for his first surgery.

It's not avoiding if he pretends she doesn't exist.

~-~-~-~-~-~

Two days later and Mark can't escape her. Every murmur down the hall is Callie this, Callie that. And he wants to string Addison up by her fancy little shoes in outrage and demand that she be treated somewhere else. It's wearing on his sanity, his ability to function and perform daily necessary tasks. This morning he rounded on the wrong patients, giving the stupid little interns trailing him something to gossip about and then he spilled coffee all over his favorite shirt, burning his chest in the process.

"You are a selfish-" Mark shouts, bursting into her room, but stopping when he finds her faced toward the wall, stirring from his break in.

"Mark?" Callie squints, discerning whether or not his figure is of dream like clouds or the real deal.

"- bitch," Mark finishes with a flourish. It was already built up. He couldn't hold back.

"Mark-" She struggles to get upright, something Addison would kill her for, but if she can't be eye level with the man degrading her then she at least needs to be sitting, instead of lying down and taking it.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why haven't you called? Why aren't you coming home at night!"

"Mark-"

"Why don't you want to see me? What did I do Callie?" He hasn't felt this vulnerable since he was eight years old and his father was giving him a very handy lesson about the things he gave a shit about- not his son, namely. And he wants to cry like a sissy, and dig his palms into his burning eyes, but pride stops him just short.

"Nothing," Callie whispers, feeling the kick to the stomach loud and clear. She broke him, but she can't put him back together when she can't even pull it out of herself.

"Then-" Mark gulps, then it's him. She doesn't want him. There's no saving him from anything. They aren't taking a fucking breather here. No recourse, he warns. "We're done."

"I'm trying to be better," Callie replies. Better than what she doesn't know. She just knows that she can't spend days on end curled into the couch cushions when this baby comes, she can't wallow anymore on all of the what ifs and could'ves of the last year.

"We're done," Mark repeats, slower, really understanding. "My baby-"

"Is fine, for now. She's fine," Callie illuminates, stuck on neurotic Addison imposed bed rest. It's all she can give him, even if it hasn't fully registered within yet.

"She?" Mark scrunches his nose. He never considered it being a girl.

"I really wanted this to work out." Callie shakes. She did want a family, a big one. And a tree fort, and Mark chasing the kids with the water hose out back. But that's not the reality of their situation.

"I want...to be there. I have to be there," Mark states plainly. His heart is already out of this argument. He spent so long fighting for her, for something she never wanted apparently. The blow is deafening, debilitating.

"October."

"Ok," Mark nods, reminding himself to write that down somewhere so he doesn't forget.

"We can do this Mark," Callie says encouragingly.

"You can have the house," Mark replies, mind wandering off, body confused by the sudden clenching of his chest. "I'll be out by tomorrow." At the very least his kid, his daughter should have the things he made for her. He finished the nursery late last night in yet another drunken haze. Crisp yellow and refreshing spring green. In hindsight, it's probably more fitting for a girl anyway. Callie will inevitably hate it.

"You don't have to do that."

"I really loved you," Mark says reflectively, chiding himself, the tears he doesn't want beginning to prick at his eyes. "I know I did stupid shit, but...you...it was real."

"Mark-"

"You don't have to keep sending out Addison as your attack dog. I'll leave you alone," he promises. His parting gift.

The door clicks shut softly before he can hear her reply. He never imagined that it'd end with him being so resigned. But then, he never banked on it ending at all.

~-~-~-~-~-~

_... and in the end someone will walk away ..._

~-~-~-~-~-~

A/N: You all have been so wonderful and forgiving of the angst that I'm working on the epilogue (that wasn't supposed to exist). Thank you for the kind words and support on this monster, I truly appreciated all of it. :)


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